


This is Better Than the Two Boats

by Slenderlock



Category: Batman - All Media Types, The LEGO Batman Movie (2017), The LEGO Movie (2014)
Genre: And Sulking, Cover Art, Everyone Is Gay, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Pining, lots of pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-25 12:01:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9819596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slenderlock/pseuds/Slenderlock
Summary: Everything should be fine now, except it isn't. Why does Batman still seem to brush Joker off? Why won't he listen to anything Joker says? Why won't he justgetthat they're supposed to be best enemies now?Well. Maybe his roommate Bruce Wayne can help.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by the lovely [Kenkennyko!](http://kenkennyko.tumblr.com/) Thank you so much!

 

Things are the same, after that.

Well, some things are different. There are twice as many people in Wayne Manor nowadays, which means twice as much food, twice as much noise- twice as much _everything,_ really. Sometimes it feels like more than twice as much, even. Like there’s so _much_ of all of them that the Manor might just burst from the wholeness of it.

It’s nice.

So, yes. Some things are different. Batman’s phone goes off a dozen times a day, and as much as he gripes and complains about it- in the deepest voice he can muster, to make sure everyone knows it’s important- he can’t bring himself to scowl at the frankly alarming number of selfies Robin manages to take every day. And even though more food takes more time to cook, there are also more hands to help. And more ideas to cook with. And more opinions on the cooking itself. And more. Everything.

It's a lot. And sometimes it’s too much.

It’s not like Batman stays outside every night. Just sometimes in the summer, when it’s warm enough, when he wants to. When Robin makes too much noise at night, for instance. Batman regrets giving the kid a drum-set for his birthday- which had come not even a week after the whole debacle. And come to think of it, Robin doesn’t even know what his birthday actually is. Had he lied?

No, he can’t have. Robin isn’t physically capable of lying.

Barbara finally agrees to take one of the master bedrooms after staying over for a full week straight, even though she’d been a little skeptical at first. After all, living in Wayne Manor is prime gossip fodder around Gotham. But Barbara doesn’t care- which is something Batman just can’t _get._

He shifts his position on the top of the street-light, catching a glance of the city.

How does she not care about what other people think about her? Isn’t that the point of, well, doing things?

Robin calls her ‘Police Lady’ for another week or so before switching to ‘Miss Barbara’. She takes it in her stride, giving him a pat on the head or the shoulder every once in a while.

It’s… cute.

Batman doesn’t _do_ cute, though. Sure, he can acknowledge when things are cute- there are certain things in the world that are cute by default. Cats, for instance. And babies. And wide eyes-

Sure. Some things are cute. Batman knows enough to know that Robin has a… talent for being cute when he wants to be. And sometimes even when he’s not trying. It’s remarkable, in a way.

It’s different, too. Wayne Manor is not cute. Batman is not cute. Alfred is not cute. But Robin adds in his little dash of cute to the place, and as much as Batman wants to hate it, it fits.

Robin fits.

Robin fits, Barbara fits, Alfred fits, and Batman… fits too. It’s absurd that he has to think about that, about the fact that he fits into the place he’s lived his entire life, but he does. Because they all fit now, each of them.

So that’s different.

But there are other things that aren’t different at all. Lobster Thermidor tastes just the same as it always has. Gotham somehow launches itself into a different catastrophe every week- though most of Gotham’s criminals had taken a little break after the Phantom Zone debacle. Barbara had been pleased. Batman had not.

But the sun still rises over the jagged horizon every morning, still sets just the same.

And Joker is still _annoying._

“Bats! Batsy! _Bat-caroni and cheese!”_

“That one doesn’t even work,” Batman growls, flicking the edge of his cape. It’s easy to balance on these things with practice, but he still doesn’t appreciate distractions.

“Of course it works,” Joker scoffs. “But I have more, if you want to hear.”

“I don’t.”

“Oh, good!” Joker gives a little jump, settling himself at the base of the street-light. “I made a list.”

“No,” Batman says.

“So, at first I was gonna go with ‘Batarang’, but that’s already a thing,” Joker starts. Batman closes his eyes. “There’s also ‘Baseball Bat’, but that’s not that creative. So _then_ I started brainstorming during my yoga hour- you know, there’s nothing that gets the creative juices flowing like a good yoga session does. Have you ever tried yoga? You know, I think it would help you, maybe mellow you out-”

“I’ve just decided,” Batman grunts. “The drums are better.”

By the time Joker looks up with a _what,_ Batman’s already sliding down the street-lamp. “Hey,” Joker says. “Hey- hey, hey, no, wait- Batsy. _Batsy.”_

Batman drops to the ground, heading for the _Batmobilito_ parked neatly in the lot across the street. Apart from the _Batbike_ and the _Batmoped,_ it’s the only vehicle he owns that will fit into a parking spot.

“Batsy,” Joker says again, jumping up to his feet and scuttling around to Batman’s side. “Batsy. Batsy.”

In the empty air of the night, his voice echoes not only in Batman’s ears, but in the entire street. And with his super-powered bat hearing-

“Batsy-Batsy-Batsy- _Batsy-Batsy-”_

 _“What,”_ he says, stopping short. Joker slams into his back and topples to the pavement below with a little yell. He rolls over and onto his feet again in a flash, coattails whipping.

“I’m here,” Joker says, giving Batman’s arm a nudge with his own.

“So?”

“I’m _here,”_ Joker says, rolling his eyes and grinning like he’s making an obvious point.

“Why,” Batman says. “Are you here.”

Joker’s grin flickers a little. “Well,” he says, brushing off his coat-sleeves. Batman reaches the _Batmobilito_ and grabs the handle. “Well,” Joker says again, hurriedly. “I mean- I just through that, y’know. Now that we’re- officially- our greatest enemies, and everything,” he stammers. “I thought- well. Maybe it would be good for people to, y’know. See us together? To really drive the point home, see.”

Batman’s hand closes around the handle, but he doesn’t tug.

“Just,” Joker continues, clearly running out of steam. “Just a thought. You know.”

“Look,” Batman says, and Joker perks up. Batman sighs. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Joker’s mouth falls shut. He takes a second to process, before sighing himself- and then looking straight at Batman with those stupid eyes.

“Please?” he whimpers, sliding over so he stands between Batman and the _Batmobilito._ “Come on, please? Pretty-please?”

“Don’t- make that face,” Batman mutters.

“Blink-blink?” Joker tries. “Blinkity-blink-blink-blink?”

“Stop.”

“Blink-blink-blinkity-”

“Look.”

Joker looks.

Batman sighs again. “I live with a police officer, all right? It’s- it’s not a good idea. It’s a bad idea. Trust me.”

Joker’s face goes still at that. And then, slowly, he steps away from the _Batmobilito,_ giving Batman room.

“Yeah,” he says. “That makes sense. Smart thinking.”

Batman starts to pull the door open, but hesitates.

“Guess that’s why you’re such a good superhero, huh?” Joker adds, giving Batman’s shoulder another nudge. It lacks conviction this time, and his hand just slides off Batman’s shoulder, barely making any impact at all. “You’re always one step ahead. Smarty-pants. Butt. Smarty-butt.”

Batman stares. Joker just gives the hood of the _Batmobilito_ a pat, still grinning.

“I’m,” Batman says. “Gonna. Go, now.”

“Mm, yes, of course.” Joker nods, almost-grinning. “Lots of things to do, I’m sure. I keep you pretty busy, right?”

Batman slips into the _Batmobilito_ and tugs the door shut. “Sure,” he says, determined to leave this conversation as quickly as he can. He slams his foot on the pedal and the _Batmobilito_ shoots forward, knocking three cars out of the way.

He doesn’t check his rearview mirror, so he doesn’t see the way Joker’s smile falls right off his face as he watches Batman go.

* * *

“I think he’s fighting someone else.”

Harley rolls her eyes. “Boo-boo.”

“No, I’m serious!” Joker sits up, ignoring the newscaster yammering away in front of him.

“You know you’re not the only bad guy in town,” Harley points out. “Someone’s gotta take care of the rest of us, right?”

“Well- yes, but.” Joker huffs, crossing his arms. “He’s got that- that team, now. Can’t they take care of it?”

“I think it’s a moral thing,” Harley muses, flopping onto the edge of the armchair. “He just wants to help out?”

Joker sighs, and the sigh slips into a groan. He flops onto his back and slides halfway off the armchair, watching the television upside-down. His coattails flop up over the top of the chair. “What if he is, though?”

“Boo-boo,” Harley sighs. “You gotta stop worrying.”

“I can't.” Joker runs his hands over his face, groaning again. “I can’t stop thinking he’s- he’s-” Joker flops onto his stomach, coattails falling into his face. He waves them away impatiently. “This is _awful._ I _hate_ thinking about this.”

“So go talk to him,” Harley says, shrugging. She jumps off the side of the couch and wheels around in front of him, blocking the television from view.

“He won’t talk to me,” Joker grumbles. “He doesn’t even want to see me.”

“Aw, I’m sure that’s not true.” Harley pats his head. “Everyone wants to see you, Mr. J.”

“Thanks, Harley.” Joker rolls back onto his back and stares at the ceiling, cracked and damp and old. Batman probably doesn’t have to look at an old ceiling like this. “And that’s another thing,” he says, jumping back onto the armchair and sitting up. “He says it’s because he’s living with that police commissioner.” He scoffs. “Like that matters. What’s she gonna do about it, huh? Arrest me?”

“Maybe,” Harley points out.

Joker scoffs. “She can try.” He scowls. “I bet he’s happy in that dumb basement with his dumb roommates and their dumb. Everything. They’re dumb.”

Why does Batman even have roommates, anyway? Maybe his little sidekick needs to live with him, sure, Joker can understand that. But the police commissioner? And that other, older, _weirder_ Batman? And Bruce Wayne?

Wait.

“Boo-boo?” Harley asks, as Joker goes stock-still. And then, slowly, a smile works its way onto his face. A real smile.

“I’m gonna need this suit pressed,” he says. “Harley, we are going _out.”_

* * *

It’s every day. It’s _every single day._

If he doesn’t find Batman on a street-lamp, he finds him on the rooftops. Or on the streets. Or on his car. And if he isn’t talking to Batman, he’s writing in the sky or defacing the nearest skyscraper or doing other weird things-

No, yeah. This one’s definitely the weirdest.

Barbara and Alfred have teamed up for the absolute worst cause possible- getting Batman to go outside. As Bruce Wayne. It’s. The worst.

Sure, his public image might need a little work, but that doesn’t mean Batman has to go _out_ every other week to some fancy dinner for whatever the city wants to celebrate that day. And Barbara always insists on coming with him- because she’s the police commissioner and she has to keep up public appearences, obviously. And Robin tags along because he’s Robin, and because if he spends more than twelve straight hours in the mansion, he gets destructive.

Robin’s really the only reason Batman even agrees to go to these things. It’s for Robin, obviously.

But back to the Joker.

Considering the fact that Joker’s crashed one of Bruce Wayne’s events before- Batman still has that old ‘Man of the Year’ award that Joker had grudgingly given back after a month of hoarding- he shouldn’t be too surprised that Joker’s here.

He’s just surprised that Joker’s here and hasn’t _done anything_ yet.

“Uh,” Barbara mutters, shifting next to Batman. “Batman?”

“I see him,” Batman mutters back.

“See who?” Robin pipes up. “Who’s here? Who are we seeing?” He’s back in his little red sweater-vest, but Batman’s at least got him in a new set of pants. His old jeans had positively reeked of sadness. And orphans. Mostly orphans.

“No one,” Batman says.

“Joker,” Barbara growls.

“Ooh!” Robin jumps out of his chair, looking around wildly. Barbara tugs him down, and the table scoots forward with a _honk._ Batman winces, but the room is so full of chatter that no one pays them much attention.

Well. People pay them _attention._ Gotham’s favorite story is still the fact that Barbara Gordon lives in Wayne Manor now, and a public appearance like this is like serving up a buffet to a house full of orphans.

Again, with the orphans.

Across the room, Joker gives an enthusiastic wave, kicking his feet under his chair.

“This,” Barbara mutters, “is going to be a long night.”

* * *

“Boo-boo,” Harley says under her breath, looking around at the crowds of uppity-class people that pass their table by without a second glance. “I still think this is way too complicated; don’t you think there’s an easier way to do this?”

“Girlbuddy,” Joker scoffs. “I do ‘way too complicated’ for a living. Trust me, this is gonna work out just fine.”

Across the room, the commissioner, the kid, and Bruce Wayne are all staring at him. He gives another wave, throws in a wink for good measure- though he doesn’t like to waste his winks on just anyone. Winks are special.

“Well, this is your last chance to change your mind,” Harley says, shrugging.

“It sure is,” Joker agrees. “Keep an eye on the commissioner, let me know when she’s not hovering around, all right? You know what to do from there.”

“Gotcha, Mr. J.” Harley salutes. They stick out here- Joker with his green hair, Harley with her red-and-black. But even if Joker’s suit is purple, it’s still a suit. And that seems to be enough for people to overlook the both of them. Either that or someone had put in a good word for them tonight.

Joker thinks _Batman?_ for a split second before shaking his head to clear it.

“She’s getting up,” Harley whispers.

“What, now? Already?” Joker looks up. And sure enough, commissioner Gordon’s standing. She bends down to whisper something in Bruce Wayne’s ear, and he gives a terse little nod. The kid sitting next to Bruce Wayne grabs her coat, eyes wide. She gives a smile and tells him something, and he lets go.

And then she walks away.

“Now’s your chance,” Harley hisses. “Go!”

Joker stands.

Bruce Wayne watches as Joker sashays his way across the room, stopping right at the commissioner’s empty seat and leaning on the back of it. The kid sits adjacent, and Bruce Wayne sits next to the kid. It’s a circular little table, but they’ve all clung to one side.

 _“Mis-_ ter Wayne,” Joker says, holding out a hand. Bruce Wayne eyes it warily, but takes it after a moment. Joker shakes it firmly, and the moment their hands dip down and back up, Wayne snatches his away. “Oh, and who’s this?” Joker asks, looking down at the kid.

“I’m-” the kid starts, looking like he’s about to vibrate right out of his seat.

“With me,” Wayne cuts in, before the kid can finish. “He’s my-” Wayne stops short for a second, and the kid’s eyes widen impossibly. “Kid,” Wayne finishes. The kid beams.

“That’s so _sweet,”_ Joker gushes. “You know, I always wanted a little one to raise, myself. Someone to look up to me, and everything.”

Wayne says nothing.

“You must be a bit cramped, over in that little mansion of yours,” Joker continues. “What with the…” He holds out his hand, counting. “…six of you.”

“Six?” the kid repeats, frowning. “But there’s only-”

“We make do,” Wayne says loudly.

“Especially with that Batman around,” Joker says, barely taking notice to the interruption. “Is he a handful?”

“He’s,” Wayne says. “Fine.”

“Water?”

Wayne, Joker, and the kid all look up. A waitress offers out the pitcher of water expectantly.

“Yes please!” the kid says, holding up his cup. “Thank you very much, ma’am!”

“I’m fine,” Wayne mutters. The waitress shrugs, refills the kid’s cup, and doubles back around the table.

“Gosh, Padre,” the kid says. “Everyone here is so nice.”

“If you’re trying to get to Batman through me,” Wayne says, “I assure you it’s not going to work.”

“Oh,” Joker says, standing up off the chair as he spots the commissioner heading back to the table, chatting to some other official looking person. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

And oh, he can’t resist. The moment’s just too perfect not to give another wink to Wayne as he spins around, coattails flying, and heads for the door.

* * *

“Sorry that took so long,” Barbara says, taking her seat beside Robin. “One of the other police chiefs wanted to talk about something.” She frowns. “I saw Joker over here, what was that about?”

Together, the three of them watch Joker amble around through the crowd, reach the far doors, and swing right out of sight into the night. Robin gives a little gasp as his coattails swish into view for a second, before disappearing.

“I,” Batman says, “have literally no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wtf is this  
> am i actually writing lego fanfic is this my life now  
> aight im down  
> prepare for a You've Got Mail level of shitty romance movie mistaken identity bullshit like i hope ur all prepared
> 
> p.s. everyone go read [THIS](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9802586) cute ass fic it's so good and everyone should read it


	2. Chapter 2

Mornings aren’t really Joker’s _thing._

Being a good villain means a lot of hard work, and everyone knows the best villain work always happens at night. So Joker’s spent many a night building bombs, balloon-escape-jetpacks, Joker-themed-submarines, what have you. Which is great- nothing like a good all-nighter to get the creative juices flowing, right?

Mm, well, yoga is a close second.

But all of it means that Joker’s normal morning begins sometime after one. It’s one of the benefits of living in a dark, dusty, abandoned warehouse-turned-pseudo-mansion. No windows means none of that annoying sunlight. Which means Joker has absolutely no problem sleeping in every morning.

Except for the fact that he’s been looking forward to this morning for a whole half-day, and when the marimba alarm on his phone pops him awake, he somersaults right out of bed and onto his feet without a second thought.

“Morning, Boo-boo!” Harley calls, as Joker slips on his trusty waistcoat, practically bouncing up and down with excitement.

“Morning, Girlbuddy,” he hums back, squinting to see if his tie’s on just right. It really doesn’t matter, considering the circumstances, but he always performs best when he knows he looks sharp.

“I made you breakfast,” Harley says, taking her cue to come inside Joker’s room. It’s hard to have _rooms_ in the warehouse, but they make do. It’s not too hard to build walls out of whatever they can find around the place- and of course Joker saves all the best parts for himself. His room is pretty comfortable, thank you very much.

“Why, thank you very much,” he sings, reaching out for the plate of freshly-made waffles in Harley’s outstretched hand. How they’d managed to find a waffle maker in this place is beyond him, but he’s certainly not complaining. “You deserve some breakfast too, Girlbuddy- after all, you did _marvelously_ yesterday.”

Harley crosses her legs, smiling shyly. “Aw, shucks, Mr. J. That’s real kind’a you to say.” She shrugs. “But I’m sure anyone coulda dressed up like a fancy waitress, popped by your table, snatched Mr. Wayne’s phone, sent a text to your number, deleted the text, and then put it back,” she adds.

Joker shakes his head. “Nope, just you. Look at this.” He gestures down to his purple-green-yellow-red suit. “Does this scream ‘stealth’ to you?”

“You gotta point.”

“Besides,” Joker says importantly. “I was the best candidate to play a distraction, obviously. Because I’m so irresistible to look at.”

“Mhmm.”

Joker fiddles with his waffle, taking a bite. “And another thing,” he says through a mouthful of carbs. “You’re used to the-” He gesticulates with a hand. “-blending in thing. I can’t tell you how many times you’ve done it.”

“Uh huh.”

“And _successfully,”_ Joker adds. “You know, that’s not easy.”

“Boo-boo,” Harley says. “You’re stalling.”

Joker looks down at his waffle. Harley takes the plate out of his hands and sets it on his little makeshift counter.

“Just call him,” she says. “What’s the worst thing that can happen?”

“He’ll put Batman on the line, and then Batman will tell me to go away because he’s busy fighting someone else and I’m not important to him and I never was and oh my goodness this was a _terrible idea.”_ Joker flops onto his bed, distraught.

Harley looks at him, unimpressed.

“Here,” she says, and yanks the phone out of her hands. “I did not spend thirty dollars on a waitress costume for you to chicken out.”

“What-” Joker leaps off his bed, but Harley’s already past the doorway. “Give that back-”

“Too late,” Harley sings, sprinting out of Joker’s room and down the hallway. Joker scrambles after her and takes a flying leap, landing on her shoulders. They both topple to the ground, but-

Harley’s done what she’d intended to do. Giggling, she shoves the ringing phone back into Joker's hands.

“Remember, be cool,” she whispers. Joker scowls.

“You don’t have to _remind_ me to be cool,” he snaps, getting to his feet as he presses the phone to his ear. It rings and rings, and Joker’s feet start to pace in little circles over the floor. Harley snorts, watching him.

And then- and _then-_

“H’lo?” says a muffled voice.

“He- _llo,_ Mister Wayne,” Joker chirps. “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“What,” says Wayne. “Joker?”

“In the flesh, baby,” Joker purrs. “Well. In the metaphorical- whatever. B-man. Brucie. Wayne-o.”

“How did you get my number,” Wayne grumbles, and Joker feels a stab of sympathy. Why, oh why, hadn’t he waited another hour or two to call? Poor Bruce Wayne, having to wake up so early.

“Not important,” Joker says, waving away the question. “Listen, would you be a dear and put Batman on the phone for me?”

“Uh,” Wayne says. “Give me. A second.”

Joker sags against the wall as Wayne’s voice vanishes, and Harley gives him a thumbs-up. He gives her a weak thumbs-up in return. Something rustles in the receiver for a second before Batman’s voice graces Joker’s ears again.

“Joker,” he growls. “What do you want?”

“That was quick,” Joker hums.

“Bruno and I were,” Batman says. “Hanging out. In. The pool.”

“Ooh, you have a _pool,”_ Joker gushes. So he hadn’t woken up Bruce Wayne after all. His conscience lifts ever so slightly.

“Forget the pool,” Batman says. “How did you get Bruce Wayne’s number? He doesn’t give it out to anyone, it’s on a need to know basis only. Like a super. Secret. Secret number.”

“Long story, Batsy. I’ll give you the short version: I’m clever.”

“You’re not-”

“Let’s just cut to the chase, shall we?” Joker hums. “How about you just tell me?”

“Tell you?” Batman echoes. “I. Literally have no idea-”

“Don’t even start,” Joker snaps, the sing-song tone evaporating out of his voice. “Tell me who else you’ve been fighting. You found someone else, didn’t you?”

There’s a pause, then. Joker holds his breath, waiting. The rest of the warehouse is quiet- most of the villains around here like to sleep in, too. Except Harley. And Bane. And the Penguin, who keeps a surprisingly rigid sleep schedule.

And then-

“You said you were fine with me fighting other people,” Batman mutters.

“Well,” Joker stammers. “Well- I. _Was.”_

“Then we don’t have a problem.”

“But-” Joker stands on tip-toe, as if trying to see eye-to-eye. “But things are different now.”

Batman sighs, sending a rush of static straight into Joker’s ear. “I don’t see the problem.”

“The _problem,”_ Joker huffs, “is that you barely even try to fight me anymore. You- you barely even banter with me, you don’t listen to my monologues, and you- you just don’t _care._ That’s the problem.”

“Joker,” Batman says. “Listen. I hate you, all right?”

_“Don’t!”_ Joker hisses. “Don’t say that like you mean it, when I know you don’t.”

“J-bird-”

Joker throws his phone against the wall, where it breaks neatly in two and clatters to the floor.

“I’m done.” He crosses his arms and stomps back towards his room. Harley hurries after him, picking up the broken phone off the ground and putting it back together with a _click._

“Boo-boo, wait,” she says.

“No!” Joker throws up his hands, spinning around and walking backwards through the doorway to his room. “No, I’m _done!_ I thought he could change, but- obviously he can’t! He _still_ doesn’t care- about me, about us.” He drops onto his bed dejectedly, burying his face into the single pillow at the head of the mattress.

“I’m sure he does,” Harley tries, following him and hovering in the doorway. “Maybe you’re just going about this the wrong way.”

“What other way am I supposed to go?” Joker flops onto his back, spreading his arms sadly over his head and staring at the ceiling. “I’ve tried monologues. I’ve tried taking over the city. I went to the _Phantom Zone_ for him, Harley.” He sighs. “He can’t just _not know_ what that means, can he?”

“Well,” Harley says slowly. “Maybe.”

“And he even said he hated me,” Joker says, steamrollering her over. He gives a sigh and presses a hand to his forehead, biting his lip. “He said it, right to my face. And I was such a fool _,_ I just believed him.”

“You are not a fool,” Harley says. “You’re the Joker _._ There’s a difference.” Joker sits up, mouth opening, but Harley runs him over. “Look,” she says. “Are you really just gonna give up now?”

“I’m not giving up,” Joker scoffs. “I’m- well, I’m.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m letting him go.”

“You already tried that, look how well that turned out,” Harley points out. “I’m tellin’ you. You got somethin’ special with this one, Mr. J.”

“I thought I did,” Joker mutters. He gives a deep, sad, long sigh, trying not to think about Batman- about how he always knows what kind of dramatic line to say, about how he always listens whenever Joker’s monologuing, about how he swings that stupid grappling hook of his everywhere. About _Shut up, Joker-_

“You know what you gotta do,” Harley says slowly, “is make him see what he’s missing.”

Joker frowns, cocking his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“Well.” Harley shrugs. “You’ve always been so invested in him, I think he takes it for granted.”

Joker’s eyes widen. “You’re right,” he says. “Harley, Girlbuddy, you are _right.”_

* * *

Well, that’s. Weird.

Batman stares at his phone for a moment or two before shrugging and tossing it back onto his bedside table. He still has another half hour or so before Robin’s daily morning text, so he rolls over in bed and shuts his eyes, trying to get some more sleep.

Joker just doesn’t get it, that’s all. They’re still the same enemies they always had been, nothing about that’s changed.

They just have a label for it, now. That’s new.

And they’ve _said it_ to one another. That’s also new.

It’s remarkable how easy it had been to say, standing in the sunrise, with the city cheering underneath them. Those three little words had just tumbled out of Batman’s mouth before he could stop them, and Joker’s face had been-

Well, Batman doesn’t care about Joker’s face. It’s his face. His face hasn’t changed. It’s still dumb.

And now Joker wants him to stop fighting other people. _Honestly._

He’d said it himself- he’d said he was fine with Batman fighting around, as long as he remembered that they were Greatest Enemies. And now they are, officially, so why does that have to change? Maybe Batman likes fighting around, so what? Why should Joker care?

Why _does_ Joker care?

Batman groans into his pillows. This isn’t working.

Everything’s harder, now that he cares about stuff. Why did he have to start caring about stuff? Caring about Alfred and Robin and Barbara is different. It’s easier. But caring about Joker? Well, no, he doesn’t _care about Joker._ He just.

Just.

It’s.

“Sir?”

Batman whips around, legs pumping furiously, and hauls himself out of bed. He swings an arm instinctively at the sound, but this time Alfred ducks, easily dodging Batman’s punch. Batman freezes, panting, as Alfred brushes off his shoulders, looking supremely unconcerned.

“Thinking, this early in the morning?" he hums. “Something must be wrong.”

“Why- are you here,” Batman growls.

“I was on my way to the kitchens to prepare breakfast,” Alfred says. “I heard you were awake.” He raises an eyebrow. “And as it’s not even 7:30, I assumed it was a bad sign.”

“You heard-” Batman scowls, though he’s in his pajamas so it’s not quite the menacing look he’s trying for. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough,” Alfred admits. He hesitates, then- “Sir, would you like to talk about it?”

Batman folds his arms. “No.”

“Sir.”

_“No.”_ It’s a little more petulant than it is intimidating, and Alfred doesn’t back down.

“Sir, if I might offer some advice on the matter?”

“I don’t need _advice,_ Alfred, I need you to leave me alone.” Batman tightens his arms, rolling onto his side and turning his back to Alfred. “I need,” he says. “Sleep.”

“I believe,” Alfred says, ignoring Batman completely, “you are still a bit- shall I say- challenged, when it comes to these things.”

“What things?” Batman snaps.

“Relationships,” Alfred translates.

“What-” Batman splutters. “We’re not in a _relationship-”_

“Relationships of any sort,” Alfred corrects.

“I’m fine with you,” Batman points out. “And. Everyone else here.”

“You’re better,” Alfred concedes. “But still noticeably… you.”

“So, noticeably amazing,” Batman says. “Got it.”

“Sir,” Alfred sighs. “Might I suggest you try to look at this matter a little harder?” He puts a hand on Batman’s shoulder, softly. “I think it would make you feel better, in the long run. Sir.”

Batman looks at the floor, thinking.

What is he supposed to do? Just _stop fighting_ every other criminal in Gotham? What, just because Joker wants him to? Why should he do what Joker wants, anyway? What’s Joker ever done for Batman?

Well, the saving-the-city thing, but. That’s different.

Joker’s different, too. And.

And Batman doesn’t know _why_ he’s different. Or how. Or why he can’t just figure this out-

“No,” he says, and yanks the covers up over his head, knocking Alfred’s hand away.

He hears Alfred sigh. “Very well, Sir. But.” A pause. “Do keep in mind that I am here for you, will you?”

Batman sticks a hand out of the blankets and waves it noncommittally in the air. “Sure,” he grumbles. “Whatever. Just go get started on breakfast.”

Alfred doesn’t say anything for a moment. Batman keeps the blankets over his head, determined not to move, speak, breathe. He’s good at this.

And then Alfred sighs again, a little heavier.

“Yes, Sir,” he says.

And then he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now go read [THIS](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9815495) fic because it is also gr8 10/10


	3. Chapter 3

The thing about having Bruce Wayne’s Super Secret Secret number is that Joker can track it.

Which is, of course, good news for the whole crew. Joker needs it for purely evil purposes, obviously. It’s not like he spends any time watching the little surveillance dot move around the screen, wondering what Bruce Wayne’s doing, wondering if Batman’s with him, if they’re talking about him-

Or worse, what if they _aren’t_ talking about him? What if Joker’s so low on Batman’s list of priorities, they never talk about him at all? What if he’s nothing, after all?

He shuts the feed off, ignoring the ringing echo of _you mean nothing to me_ in his ears.

Harley had had the right idea, saying maybe he needed to take a break from giving Batman everything he had. But maybe that’s not enough. Maybe he needs to take it one step further.

He gives the monitor one last look of contempt before striding for the door.

* * *

Wayne Island is easy to find and easier to get to.

Batman had probably been the one to remodel it back, after Joker had remodeled the place. And all right, yes, he gets it. But it still hurts just a little to know that all that hard work had been for nothing. He’d really liked the Ferris wheel, why hadn’t Batman kept that? Had it been too _fun_ for him?

Batman just doesn’t like fun, that’s it.

Joker rocks on his feet as he stands on the doorstep, debating whether or not to knock. He hadn’t run this plan by Harley, he’d just thought of it and come. It was unnerving- most of his best plans had taken weeks to think up, perhaps months. But then again, all of his best plans had also failed.

Maybe this is what he’s been missing. Good, old-fashioned impulsiveness.

He knocks on the door.

No one answers for the longest stretch of seconds Joker’s ever felt in his life. It’s not early this time, it’s only three in the afternoon. They could be busy, he reasons. Busy… doing what?

Bane had the city booked for today, Joker remembers. Something about a football game.

So maybe it’s Bane. Ugh, Joker thinks, seriously? Does Bane have something that Joker doesn’t? What, is it the coat? Joker has a _much_ better coat. Is it the bald thing? Is it the mask? Maybe Batman likes masks. Batman wears a mask. Should Joker get one? Oh, but they’re so itchy and so hard to wash, and-

The door swings in.

Batman, donned in a red tartan dressing gown, scowls over at Joker.

“What,” he says.

“Oh!” Joker says, feigning surprise. “Batman, what a surprise.”

“It’s not a surprise to see me here,” Batman growls. “I literally live here.”

“You do?” Joker muses. “Oh, you _do!_ Silly me, I forgot.”

“You forgot- Joker. You _literally_ took over this place just to spite me, do you not remember?” Batman says, folding his arms to look unimpressed- but something creeps in under that scowl, something that looks suspiciously like uncertainty.

“Right, right,” Joker says, nodding nonchalantly. “Anyway.”

“Why are you here?” Batman demands. “To fight me?”

“Nope.”

“Mono-e-mono,” Batman says, as if he hasn’t heard Joker.

“Nuh-uh.”

“To the death. To settle this once and for all.”

“Not even close.”

“I should have expected this,” Batman mutters. “You were bound to show up at my door someday-”

“Can I talk to Bruce Wayne?” Joker cuts in.

Batman goes silent at that. He looks at Joker for a few full seconds, and Joker keeps the easy smile on his face. He considers going for another _blink-blink-blink,_ but perhaps that’s overdoing it a bit. Hands locked behind his back, he rocks innocently on his feet.

“…Fine,” Batman spits, and whips back behind his door.

Joker mentally congratulates himself for being so brilliantly convincing, giving a light little whistle as he waits.

Not two seconds later, Bruce Wayne pops out from behind the door, hair slightly disheveled. He brushes it back hurriedly, then dusts off the same red tartan gown.

“Is that Batman’s robe?” Joker asks, gesturing down at the thing.

“No,” Bruce Wayne says immediately. “We just wear the same one. I’m a multi-billionaire with my own island and my own mansion. You think I can’t afford two robes?”

“Of course not!” Joker shakes his head hastily. “It’s just. You know. Kind of weird, that’s all.”

“My bathrobe is not _weird,”_ Bruce Wayne says.

“No, no, it’s not,” Joker agrees. “It’s very dashing, actually.”

That seems to get him. Bruce Wayne flounders for a second, apparently lost for words.

“Dashing,” he eventually repeats.

“Yep. Real nice.” Joker nods. “Anyway! B-Man. Brucie.”

“Bruno,” Bruce Wayne says.

“I like B-Man better,” Joker says, shrugging. “Anyway, B-Man. How would you like.” He gives a dramatic pause for effect, and then. “-to have a full complimentary tour of _my_ mansion?”

“You have a mansion?” Bruce Wayne asks, and if Joker tries hard enough he can almost imagine that Wayne sounds impressed.

“Well,” Joker says, “sort of? It’s not an official mansion or anything, just your run-of-the-mill abandoned warehouse with a few upgrades- but we make do.” He frowns. “I’m getting déjà vu from talking about this. You gonna come or not?”

“Sorry, just backing up for a second,” Bruce Wayne says. “You’re… _not_ here for Batman? At all?”

“Batman?” Joker repeats, giving a quizzical frown. “Why would I be here for Batman?”

“You,” Bruce Wayne says. “I mean. You’re. _I heard_ you were Greatest Enemies.”

“Oh, that.” Joker scoffs. “Nope.”

Something behind his chest gives a twitch, right behind his ribcage. It’s a familiar feeling- the same kind of twinge that he remembers from hearing the words _there is no Us._ He shoves it away for now.

“But you saved the city together,” Bruce Wayne says. “That means something. Right?”

“No, not really.” Joker shrugs, scuffing a foot on Bruce Wayne’s doormat. “Look, enough about Batman already.” He shakes his head. “I’m here for _you.”_

“Uh,” Bruce Wayne says. “Why?”

“Well, you’re a very successful man. Very money-wise. You’ve got the whole island thing going on.”

“Right.”

“And I don’t know if Batman told you this,” Joker adds, leaning in as if to whisper conspiratorially, “but I kinda stopped by this place a while ago. Just to scope things out.”

“I know,” Bruce Wayne says.

“And let me just say, I _love_ what you’ve done with the place,” Joker gushes. “It’s really a piece of work, let me tell you that. You’ve got the natural feng shui going on- especially with those windows, really well done, I have to say.”

“Thank,” Bruce Wayne says. “You?”

“And I was just hoping you could stop by _my_ mansion and give me a few pointers,” Joker finishes, grinning brightly and standing as high as he can, hands behind his back again. “See, I don’t have that whole natural lighting thing, so it’s hard to get that warm atmosphere you’ve got going on-”

“Sorry,” Bruce Wayne says. “You’re- you’re gonna have to go back to the Batman thing. Because I have literally zero idea what you were talking about.”

“Oh-em-goodness, _enough_ about Batman!” Joker groans. “I’m not here for Batman! _Here.”_

Time to pull out the clincher. Joker rummages in his pocket for a moment before pulling out the little bouquet he’d put together this morning. Three flowers- pink, yellow, white- all in a neat circle.

“What,” Bruce Wayne says.

“These are for you,” Joker hums, handing the flowers over. Bruce Wayne looks at them as if he’s trying to detect some secret message written on the petals. Joker snorts. “Silly, there’s nothing wrong with them,” he says. And then, in a whisper- “But there is a bomb attached to the bottom, just a heads-up. I was gonna let you figure that one out on your own, but I thought I’d be polite.”

And he winks.

Bruce Wayne’s mouth opens and closes a few times. He looks down at the flowers, then back at Joker, then down at the flowers again, and then back up at Joker. Joker bites his lip and gives his best _pretty-pretty-please_ look, standing on his tip-toes.

“Okay,” Bruce Wayne says.

* * *

Why had he said yes?

Why the _heck_ had he said yes?

This is a terrible idea. This is the absolute worst idea. This is the _worst._

“So!” Joker sings, grabbing Batman’s hand and tugging him forwards. “This is the outside. A little drab, I know, but it’s really nice for keeping under the radar. I mean, look at this place. Does any of this scream ‘secret underground supervillain mansion’ to you, B-Man?”

Batman looks at the building. Without his mask or equipment, he can’t scan the darned thing. “No,” he admits, reluctantly.

“Exactly,” Joker says proudly. “Come on, I’ll show you inside.”

And he yanks Batman’s entire arm, practically sprinting inside. The door tugs shut behind them, and Batman blinks a few times to get his bearings. Again, without the super-advanced-super-mask on, he has to actually wait for his eyes to adjust to the lighting. It’s dim and cold- they must be using LEDs in here. Which is, scientifically speaking, more environmentally friendly, but it makes the place look like one of those Creepy Abandoned Hospitals. Or Asylums.

“Guys!” Joker shouts into the semi-darkness. Batman blinks again, and the first room swims into focus. It’s a nice little enclosure, big enough to hold a dozen or more people- and indeed, about a dozen villains are milling about, filling the room with the low buzz of chatter. There are couches and chairs strewn around the place, all circling a nicely-sized television that’s set a few feet from the back wall.

At Joker’s call, several people jump out of their chairs, swivel around, or stop short. The television mutes. Batman squints as Mime, Poison Ivy, and Man-Bat all give little waves when they see Joker standing side-by-side with Bruce Wayne.

“We have a guest today,” Joker calls, slapping an arm around Batman’s neck and tugging him closer. “Everyone, I want you to meet the illustrious Bruce Wayne.”

A wave of _hello_ s sweeps over the room. March Hare and Tarantula give waves of their own- March Hare waves a carrot.

“Boo-boo?”

Batman freezes. _Boo-boo?_ What kind of a nickname is that?

“Harley, Girlbuddy!” Joker grins as a red-and-black clad woman rolls over on her skates, looking puzzled. Out of everyone else in the room, Batman realizes, she’s the only one without a smile. She’s not angry, though, she just looks… confused.

“What’s going on?” Harley asks. “Why is Mister Wayne here?”

“I asked him to take a look around,” Joker says, waving the question away. “You all remember his nice little mansion, don’t you?”

The room resounds with a little cheer.

“Well, I think it’s high time we got a few renovations,” Joker sings. “And Mister Wayne is here to help make that happen.”

Harley’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t say anything.

From the other side of the room, Clock King waves his hands importantly.

“Yes, you,” Joker says, pointing at him.

Clock King ticks.

“No, he’s not staying,” Joker says.

The room choruses with an _aww,_ and everyone looks down at the floor.

“Hey, hey,” Joker says hurriedly. “Cheer up- come on, I’m all about smiles. After all, if he likes it enough, he just might come back.”

As easily swayed as the rest of the city, the room cheers again. They all go back to their conversations, and someone un-mutes the television. Joker lets out a breath, grinning and turning back to Batman.

“So,” he says. “This is the living room. Nice, right?”

“It’s got,” Batman says. “Personality.” Terrible personality, maybe, but personality nonetheless.

“Why, thank you,” Joker sings. “Come on, let me show you around.”

He grabs Batman’s hand again and tugs.

* * *

Batman’s fought a man calling himself the Condiment King before.

Batman’s _lost_ to the Condiment King before, albeit only once. And the shock value of seeing someone wielding two condiment containers had probably added to that defeat.

The point being, Batman’s had a lot of Weird Days in his life. But this?

This is probably the _weirdest._

Joker’s mansion is- Batman hates to admit- kind of nice. Well, it’s messy and overcrowded and unkempt and cluttered and dark and smells a little bit like feet just about everywhere he goes, but. It’s kind of nice.

It does have atmosphere, even if the lighting’s terrible. The walls are built haphazardly out of various materials, and the building’s tall enough that there’s a whole second floor above the first. Joker shows him around the first floor’s hallways, up the stairs, around the second floor’s rooms.

“And I think it would be great to put in a couple windows here, to catch the sunset,” Joker muses, as they pass by a suspiciously purple looking bedroom. Batman tries to catch another glance at is as they walk, but all he can see is a mirror and a bed before the door blocks the room from view.

“And that’s about it,” Joker finishes, as they circle back to the top of the stairs. He crosses his arms and leans on the wall. “What do you think?”

“It’s,” Batman says. “Nice.”

“You really think so?” Joker asks, eyes wide. Batman opens his mouth- but. Nothing comes out. He closes it, looking at the other wall. What the _heck,_ why can’t he just speak normally? Why is he acting like he’s just seen someone like Barbara for the first time? This is _nothing like that._ At _all._

“Mister Wayne?” Joker says, carefully. “B-Man?”

Batman swings.

“Whoa-” Joker rolls to the side just in time, coattails almost slapping Batman in the face. Batman’s punch hits the wall instead, knocking out a clear hole through the bricks. A faint breeze sweeps in through the gap, and the afternoon light shoots in, painting Batman in daylight. He stays stock-still, one hand frozen in place in the wall, the other at his side- still holding the little bouquet of flowers. They both stare at the hole in the wall.

“Uh,” Batman says. “I.”

“That’s _perfect,”_ Joker coos. “All we have to do is fit some glass over it and we’ll have natural lighting in no time.”

“Right.” Batman pulls his hand back. “Uh. Joker.”

“Please, call me J-Bird.”

Batman bristles. _He’s_ the only one who gets to call Joker ‘J-Bird’. And yes, he’s still technically the only one, but Joker’s still _technically asking someone else._ Something jabs, hard, at Batman’s lungs. Lungs? Chest? Somewhere around there. He’ll think about it later.

“Pass,” he says. “I’m sticking with Joker.”

Joker’s eyes widen again and his lip starts to stick out.

“Nope,” Batman says. “Nope, not the face. Don’t.”

Joker pouts. “Fine. You were saying?”

Batman sighs. “This isn’t just about the mansion. Is it?”

Joker folds his arms, looking at the hole in the wall.

“Why is Bruce Wayne- why am _I_ so… important?” Batman asks skeptically. “I literally just met you.”

“Am I not allowed to take a shine to people if I want?” Joker counters. “Come on, B-Man. You’ve got lots of friends. Now you’ve just got one more.”

“Friends,” Batman echoes. “You think we’re friends.”

“Well, sure!” Joker shrugs. “I showed you around my place, you’ve met my other friends. Sure, we’re pals.”

“Not pals.”

“Buddies?”

“Nope.”

Joker frowns, thinking. “Rough acquaintances?”

“I’ll accept that.” Batman narrows his eyes. “And you’re sure you’re not just doing this to get to Batman?”

“One hundred percent.” Joker nods. “Batman’s history. Gone.”

“He’s history… because you’re going to kill him?” Batman tries.

“No- that is completely the opposite of the point I’m trying to make,” Joker whines, throwing his hands up. “I don’t care about Batman- I don’t even want to _think_ about Batman.”

Batman stares.

“Right,” he says. “But you’re still going to kill him.” He shrugs. “Well, try to kill him. Batman’s too smart to kill.”

“Enough about Batman!” Joker shouts. “I said that already- so why are you still talking about Batman? Not everything has to be about Batman!”

“Yeah, well, I guess if you want things to be dumb, you can make them about something else. Other than Batman.” Batman frowns. “Things that aren’t about Batman are dumb.”

“It’s getting late,” Joker sighs. “Would you like some dinner? We have leftovers in the fridge.”

* * *

Joker drives Batman home two hours later, just as the sun sinks behind the last skyscrapers of Gotham.

“Computer,” Batman says, as Joker’s car soars down the highway, heading back for Gotham. “I’m. Home.”

“Welcome home, Sir,” Alfred says, as the door swings open.

“Alfred?” Batman frowns. “Did you take away Computer again?”

“No, Sir. I merely saw you leave and have been awaiting your return since.” He looks Batman up and down, pausing at the sight of the bouquet in Batman’s hand. “Ah. Sir?”

“It’s a bomb,” Batman says, holding the flowers out.

“Very good, sir.” Alfred reaches for it. “Shall I dispose of the thing?”

“No-” Batman snatches the bouquet back, scowling. Alfred raises an eyebrow, and Batman clears his throat. “I mean. I should inspect it.”

“Inspect… it,” Alfred repeats.

“Alfred, how do you think I’m so good at diffusing bombs?” Batman snarks. “I _study them._ Obviously.”

“Very well, Sir.” Alfred clears his throat. “Do come in?”

“Right. Right, yeah.” Batman shuffles inside. “Give me my armored face protector.”

“I assumed you would want it right away, Sir,” Alfred says, pulling the thing out from his coat. “Here you are.”

Batman seizes the mask and pulls it on over his face, sagging a little bit when it’s on. “That’s better.”

“Sir, if I may?” Alfred says carefully.

“What?”

“I assume this means your… relationship problem is.” Alfred looks at the flowers. “Remedied?”

“There’s no relationship problem,” Batman snaps. “There’s no relationship. So there can’t be a problem with it. _Ha.”_ He swings a few karate-chops over at Alfred, who doesn’t even bother to flinch. “Game, set, and match.”

“That’s a ‘no’, then,” Alfred sighs.

Batman tosses him the flowers. Alfred catches them warily, looking the bouquet over for any signs of explosives.

“I’m gonna go teach Dick how to hotwire the Batmobile,” Batman calls, already sprinting out of the entry hall. “Put those in my room for me?”

Alfred sighs, turning the flowers over in his hand. “Very good, Sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~that was totally not a date ok~~   
>  ~~the flowers didnt even count as flowers bc they were BOMBS~~   
>  ~~totally doesnt count~~
> 
> today's rec is [Gidankuroki,](http://gidankuroki.tumblr.com/) who makes lovely lovely lego movie/batjokes art pls go check her out


	4. Chapter 4

It becomes a Thing.

Why, When, or even How it becomes a Thing, Batman still isn’t quite sure. But somehow, impossibly, it does.

First it’s every day, then it’s every other day, and now it’s once a week. At one-thirty on the dot, Batman’s phone will light up with a call from a number he refuses to add to his contacts- even though he’s memorized it digit for digit, can type it without thinking, and even Computer knows who it is by now.

And every single time, Batman answers with the same twenty two words.

“Joker,” he says. “What do you want with me, Batman, your arch nemesis, Gotham’s greatest superhero, the obvious reason why you called this number.”

“Not calling for you, Batsy,” Joker sings. “Be a dear, get-”

“Bruce Wayne,” Batman guesses. “Yeah. Got it.” He hesitates, then, just as he’s about to ruffle the sheets into the microphone. “You know he’s a jerk. Right?”

“B-Man?” Joker says. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bruno,” Batman corrects. “No one calls him B-Man.”

“I do,” Joker says.

“He’s a jerk. Face.” Batman thinks. “And a terrible cook. He can’t cook.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Joker says. “I can cook, I don’t care.”

“He never does his dishes. He’s really. Really untidy.”

“So? He’s got people to clean for him- and have you _seen_ the place I live in? Wait, no, you haven’t- Ha, I forgot. I took Brucie down here, not you.” Batman starts to protest, but Joker runs him over. “Look, this is kind of time sensitive, so could you please be a _dear_ and put him on the line?”

“Time sensitive?” Batman scowls. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, you know, this and that.” Joker’s voice is like sunshine- he’s obviously happy. Why is he so happy? Bruce Wayne is the most boring person on the planet- he doesn’t have bat-gear or a bat-mask or a bat-grappling-hook or a bat- _anything._ Why does Joker even like Bruce Wayne? _“Hairspray’_ s in town, and I just happened to snag a couple box seats,” Joker says, tearing Batman out of his thoughts.

“You’re going to blow up the theater,” Batman growls. “I should have known. You won’t get away with this-”

“What? _No!”_ Joker shouts. Batman winces, holding the phone a little further away from his face. It’s too early for yelling.

“All right, fine, blowing things up is a little outdated,” he admits. “You’re going to kidnap the leads and hold them for ransom. Along with Bruce Wayne.”

“Batman.”

“You won’t get away with-”

“Batsy,” Joker sighs. “When are you gonna get the hint? I’m not inviting _you.”_

“Sure you’re not.” Batman sighs. “Fine. Hold on.”

And he rustles the sheets into the microphone.

* * *

Gotham Theater is a quaint little place, considering the size of the city around it.

Nonetheless, it still manages to draw a sizeable crowd whenever something interesting comes to town. _Hairspray_ might not be the most revolutionary musical in the world, but it’s fun. And most of Gotham agrees that they all need a little bit more fun in their lives.

It always seems to be raining in Gotham. Always raining, always dark. And always a bank heist or impending doom, somewhere along the way.

It’s cute, how much they all worry.

Joker’s in his best suit tonight- it’s the same suit he always wears, but he’s got a new pair of coattails on, fresh out of the box. They curl just right at the ends, giving his outfit the _kick_ it really needs to make this night special.

Bruce Wayne looks pretty nice, too. It’s hard to imagine him not looking nice, to be honest, since all of his public appearances are at red-carpet events. He’s always in a suit of some sort, hair coiffed just so. There’s something about him that almost doesn’t seem real, Joker thinks.

Ah, but Joker can’t talk. He looks _just_ as dashing every day, and his hair is at least five times as coiffed.

Joker owns this town, even if the commissioner holds the key to the city.

Every building in this city is wrapped around his little finger. Claw. Whatever.

So, getting box seats isn’t so much a stroke of luck as a simple phone call. And Joker doesn’t want to toot his own horn or anything, but _‘give me two box seats and I won’t blow up the theater’_ sounds like a pretty fair trade to him.

Bruce Wayne seems at home here, in his little red plush seat. He’s sat forward, leaning on the balcony and watching the crowd.

He’s been over to the Joker-Mansion more than a few times, but this is the first time they’ve gone _out._ And while yes, Joker’s definitely doing this to make a certain bat-shaped-vigilante jealous, he can’t deny there’s something actually nice about going out with Bruce Wayne. He doesn’t quite know why yet, but it’s a work in progress.

The theater’s only about half full, and the general chatter of the crowd isn’t loud enough to drown out Bruce Wayne’s little sigh.

“Yo, yo, B-Man,” Joker says, sitting back in his chair and propping his legs up on the balcony. The rest of their box is empty, of course. “What’s up? What’s on your mind? What’s the _sish?”_

“Just,” Bruce Wayne says. “Thinking.”

“Mm, that’s always fun. What about?”

Still leaning on the balcony, Bruce Wayne turns to look at Joker. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Fire away,” Joker says.

Bruce Wayne nods, taking a breath. “Why do you hate Gotham so much?”

“What?” Joker sits up. “I don’t hate Gotham.”

“You’ve tried to destroy it more times than anyone can count,” Bruce Wayne points out.

“Well,” Joker says. “Yes, but.”

“You’ve cost the city tens of hundreds of dollars in property damage,” Bruce Wayne says.

“I admit that,” Joker nods. _“But.”_

“And you’ve ruined, like. Every single Man-of-the-year award ceremony,” Bruce Wayne finishes.

“Okay, that was one time, and I gave it back,” Joker huffs.

“If you don’t hate Gotham,” Bruce Wayne says, and his voice does something to Joker’s throat that makes it close up before it can begin to form words, “then why do you keep trying to bring it down?”

The theater seems to swell with noise, then- or perhaps it’s because Joker’s trying to listen to any sound other than the little voice in the back of his head. He peers over the balcony to the sight of the sea of red chairs, nearly all of them full.

“You really wanna know,” he says quietly, “why I go after Gotham so much?”

Joker doesn’t look at Bruce Wayne, but he can see him nod his head in the corner of his eye.

“I do,” Bruce Wayne says.

“The reason I always tried to take over Gotham,” Joker says, and the lights dim down, casting the theater in a vacuum of black. “Is because Batman was always there to try and stop me.”

And the play begins.

* * *

_Try._ Please.

Batman doesn’t _try_ to stop Joker, he _does._ Magnificently. As has been recorded many times on multiple occasions.

But it confirms Batman’s suspicions. There’s definitely something going on here- the only thing left to determine is exactly what Joker’s planning. Blowing up the building? Taking hostages? Blowing up the building and then taking hostages? It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, Batman’s going to stop him.

He waits until the second half of the play to make his move- to keep up the illusion.

Absolutely not because he wants to hear the full-chorus version of _The Nicest Kids in Town,_ because that song is far too uplifting and happy for Batman. Batman doesn’t like _The Nicest Kids in Town._ He doesn’t even listen to it when they start singing. He has to put up a hand to block the sight of Joker mouthing the names of every cast member on the Corny Collins show when they go down the line.

Because it’s stupid. Hairspray is a happy, stupid musical. Why can’t this city ever host a good musical? Like _Phantom of the Opera._ The writing is excellent in that one. Really. Really well done. Fantastic characters.

But not this. This is _garbage._

He makes it to _Without Love_ before he cracks.

“Brucie,” Joker whispers, as Batman stands up abruptly. “Brucie, where you going?”

“Bathroom,” Batman growls, as the words _Tracy, I’m in love with you_ beat senselessly against his ears.

“Don’t take too long,” Joker hisses. Batman scrambles out of the box, heading for the door. “The best part’s coming up!”

“Oh, I’ll be back,” Batman mutters, probably low enough that Joker can’t hear.

As with every other building in Gotham, the Gotham Theater is built from a flat, easy-to-cut base, with shabby walls and a dropped-on roof. And as such, it’s remarkably easy to sneak around back and tunnel underneath the place.

He has no doubt in his mind that the _best part_ Joker’s talking about is the part where he’s going to blow the whole place sky high. Which means he has to find the bombs and take them out before Joker has a chance to detonate them. It’s a brilliant plan- as Joker’s plans always are- and Batman is even more brilliant for piecing it together just in time to stop it. When he pulls this off, Gotham’s going to have a new headline.

Because seriously, they’ve been stuck on Barbara living in Wayne Mansion for, like, forever. There haven’t been any good crime-stopping shows in a good long while, Batman realizes. He’s been spending so much time just… out and about. He hasn’t even realized.

Well, he’ll think about that later. For now, he has a theater to save.

He scales the walls first, checking the roof and the outside-facing bricks. Then underneath, around the base, then in the main entry hall. The bathrooms. The stairwells. The storage closets that are somehow filled to the brim with old costumes and the smell of Theater Sadness. Even the weird couch in the light-box.

Nothing.

Batman huffs as he slips out of the light-box unnoticed, still empty-handed after a half hour of searching.

This can only mean one thing- if Gotham Theater isn’t rigged to blow, then Joker’s going for the kidnapping route. Which means that everyone on stage is in danger.

He somersaults to the back door leading behind stage, sprints down the darkened hallway, and whips past the green rooms. Whatever song is on right now must be a full company number, because the green rooms are absolutely deserted and he can hear the music pulsating even through the floors.

It gets louder and louder as he sprints around the hallways, looking for the door to backstage. When at last he reaches it, it tugs open without hesitation under his hand, and he blasts through.

 _“And my heart’s keeping time to the speed of sound,”_ one of the actors belts, as Batman ducks and rolls under the wings.

 _“I was lost ‘till I heard the drums,”_ another actor sings, and Batman points his grappling hook up at the ceiling and fires.

_“Then I found my way!”_

Batman soars up to the catwalk, darting over to the very center of the stage and securing the grappling hook to the railing.

_“Cause you can’t stop the-”_

Batman drops down into the center of the stage. Three or four of the actors scream, toppling out of his way, and the music takes a measure or two before the conductor realizes something’s wrong and stops. It grinds to an awkward halt as everyone in the theater stares, dumbfounded, at Batman.

“Nobody move,” Batman growls. “Everyone here is in danger.”

“Danger?” echoes the actor playing Tracy.

“Yes, danger.” Batman nods. “The Joker is here. And he’s going to kidnap all of you and hold you for ransom.”

“The- not the actual Gotham’s Joker,” gasps the actor playing Penny.

“Yes. That Joker,” Batman says.

“Not Batman’s greatest foe,” says the actor playing Link.

“That- it’s complicated, okay- but yes. That Joker.”

“Not the same Joker who almost destroyed the whole _city,”_ Corny Collins cries.

“Yes, the- well, okay, actually. You’re gonna have to be more specific with that one, because-”

 _“Batman,”_ Joker’s voice shouts, piercing through the argument on stage. Batman whips around, batarangs already in hand. Joker leaps out of the box seats and scrambles onto the stage, looking furious. “Batman, what are you _doing_ here?”

“Stopping you,” Batman says. “Obviously.”

“Stopping me from what?” Joker demands.

“Uh, from kidnapping Bruce Wayne and the cast of the…” Batman thinks. “Eighth highest grossing musical of all time.”

Joker frowns. “How do you know that?”

“Batman knows lots of things,” Batman growls. “Why he knows them is none of your business- now, surrender and I’ll put you in Arkham in one piece.”

“I’m not surrendering anything,” Joker says, crossing his arms. “And I’m _not_ kidnapping any of you- fantastic performance by the way, Ms. Penny,” he adds, winking at one of the actors. She gives a weak little grin.

“Don’t play games with me,” Batman grunts. “I know why you’re here.”

“Well, then, enlighten me,” Joker says, shrugging. “Because, you know, I thought I was just here to watch an excellent show of my favorite musical of all time. Yep, that’s right, you’re all my favorites!” He gives a little wave to the cast, grinning broadly at them. They all wave back with varying levels of enthusiasm.

“I said don’t play games with me,” Batman spits, aiming his spare grappling hook at Joker. The other one’s still hanging from the ceiling, stuck to the railing. “Surrender, right now, or I’ll arrest you myself.”

“On what evidence?” Joker asks, eyes wide. “I have a witness account with me tonight, he’ll testify.”

“Sure you do,” Batman says, rolling his eyes.

“Bruce Wayne will testify in my defense,” Joker says loudly. The cast whispers to themselves, and Batman can make out _Bruce Wayne is here? Did you see him?_ among the chatter.

“No he won’t,” Batman grumbles.

“Yes, he will,” Joker says. “Because Brucie and I are friends.”

Batman stops short, hand frozen on the grappling hook’s trigger.

_Friends?_

“And I took him here to have a nice time,” Joker continues, “because even if it’s only the eighth highest grossing musical- only counting film adaptions, by the way, it doesn’t even make the _list_ on broadway musicals- I thought we could come out and have a fun time. But you just had to ruin it, didn’t you?”

“Friends?” Batman repeats, dumbly. Joker appears not to hear him.

“You just had to jump in and tear this place apart- tear my night apart.”

“No, hang on. You invited me,” Batman says.

Joker scowls. “I did not invite you. In fact, I _un-_ invited you. Multiple times.”

“No, you invited me,” Batman growls. “You always do this. You tell me where you’re going so I can show up and stop you. It’s our _thing.”_

“It _was_ our thing,” Joker snaps. “Not anymore.”

Batman scoffs. “Of course it is.”

“We don’t have a thing,” Joker says coldly.

“Of course we do.”

Joker sucks in a breath, and the entire audience goes quiet. The cast behind them stares, bracing themselves. It’s as if Joker’s sucked in all the air in the theater, and everyone holds their breath until he lets it out.

Batman rolls his eyes. Joker always does this with the dramatics- most of the villains do it too, but no one does it quite like Joker does. The audience will enjoy the show, though- which he supposes he owes them, after crashing their musical. But to be fair, it had been a _terrible_ musical. Seriously, the worst.

Batman grits his teeth, waiting for the long-dramatic-monologue.

And then-

 _“There is no ‘We’,”_ Joker hisses.

The grappling hook slips out of Batman’s hand, but he doesn’t hear it clatter onto the stage floor. He doesn’t hear the crowd’s reaction, doesn’t hear the intakes of breath from the cast behind them. He doesn’t know if Joker says anything after that, because the only thing he hears is a low, fierce howling that seems to come from inside his ears, filling his head up to the brim and spilling out of every orifice it can find.

Because this can’t, actually, be happening.

Joker can’t say that, because.

Because Joker _can’t say that._

The black, as it always does, surrounds him. The stage goes dark, the cast and the audience and the people disappear. Something must happen then, because he feels the illusion of movement underneath him, and the blackness almost seems to start to move. Someone speaks, but he can’t tell who. The floor falls out from underneath him, but instead of falling he starts to float.

The mask over his eyes tightens impossibly and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block the feeling out.

More moving, more voices, more noise and noise and _noise-_ until it stops. The motion stills. The sound is gone.

And then he’s alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today's rec is [Roibn](http://roibn.tumblr.com), who draws delightful lego movie/lego batman art and is just a general joy! go check out pls
> 
> also i wanted to say thank you so much for all the comments ^^ I wasn't really expecting much of a response to this fic, given just how specific the fandom/ship is (and also the fact that lego batjokes has existed for all of thirteen days) but you've all been really sweet and wonderful and I appreciate every single comment <3 so thank you!!!  
> also don't worry its gonna get happier i promise


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW PEOPLE DREW ART IM GONNA CRY  
> [Kenkennyko](http://kenkennyko.tumblr.com) drew a cute picture [HERE](http://kenkennyko.tumblr.com/post/157684408676/dude-you-cant-be-jealous-of-yourself)  
> (edit: this pic is now also featured as cover art, which you can see over on [chapter one!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9819596/chapters/22048265)  
> and [Snowyfrostshadows](http://snowyfrostshadows.tumblr.com) drew one [HERE](http://snowyfrostshadows.tumblr.com/post/157700618322/fanart-for-slenderlocks-fantastic-fanfic-its)  
> I LOVE THEM BOTH I LOVE EVERYTHING- also please please let me know if u make art for this because I almost didn't see these!!! aaaaa thank you so much ;A;

It hurts, mostly, to see Batman go absolutely rigid, freeze in place for what feels like eternity, and then topple over sideways in a dead faint. It hurts, of course it hurts. Saying it had hurt, and watching Batman hear him say it had hurt.

But some, small part of him- a part of him that’s bigger than he’d like to admit- thinks _now you know what it feels like._

And maybe, just maybe, that part of him had been the one to think this up. Maybe that part of him hadn’t wanted to make Batman jealous at all, maybe that part of him had just wanted to hurt Batman as much as it could, because it wanted vengeance. And maybe. Maybe that part of him regrets it. Just a little bit.

Batman falls to the floor with a dull _clack,_ and the theater goes dead silent. A split second passes, and then Batman’s form shifts a little on the stage floor. He’s still breathing.

Joker unfolds his arms.

“Um,” someone says, and Joker turns around. The cast, standing in a tightly-kinit line, stares apprehensively at him. “Mister Joker?” says the main lead. “About that hostage thing?”

Joker sighs. “Seriously? Okay. Look.” He puts his hands behind his back, walking over to where Batman’s grappling hook is still stuck to the overhead railing. He reaches out and gives it a tug, and the thing comes crashing down. “Not _everything_ I do is evil, all right?” He puffs out his chest. “I must say I’m flattered that my reputation precedes me, but- _waugh-_ ”

Someone knocks into Joker’s side, sending him off balance. He twirls, hands cartwheeling, and manages to land on his feet as the someone kneels down, looking over Batman. Joker frowns at the costume, recognizing it.

“Hey,” he says to the other-older-weirder-Batman. “Hey, uh. This wasn’t me, all right? I promise.”

“Indeed,” says other-Batman in a low, British voice. He hefts Batman up into his arms. “I’ll take it from here.”

“I feel like you don’t believe me,” Joker says, pointing at other-Batman. “Look, I’ve got a room full of witnesses that can testify-”

“I believe you,” says other-Batman. “I was worried this might happen.”

“Worried?” Joker asks. “What, is he sick?”

Other-Batman levels Joker with a look that’s so accusatory and unforgiving that it makes Joker’s feet stumble over one another as he steps backwards.

“Good day,” says other-Batman, and he fires Batman’s grappling hook to the ceiling. With Batman under his arm, they soar up off the stage, land on the stairway beside the seats, and grapple out through the door.

Joker watches them vanish through the doorway, and then the room stares at him, breath held.

“Well,” he says. “We can’t let this little shin-dig go unfinished. Where were you? Somewhere around measure twenty-one?”

In the orchestra pit, the conductor gives a nod.

Joker beams and leaps off the stage, flopping down into one of the conveniently empty seats. “The show must go on!” he calls, and the audience drums up a nervous round of applause. The cast shuffles back into place, the conductor swishes his baton, and the world begins to turn again.

* * *

“For the last time, I did not _faint.”_

“Master Bruce-”

“It was a reflex. My body is fine-tuned to go into ultra-defense mode if it senses danger.”

“Sir, there was no imminent threat in the area that I could-”

“I _meant to do it.”_

“Collapse onto the floor, on stage?” Alfred muses. “In front of nearly nine hundred people?”

Batman turns over in bed, yanking the blankets up over his head.

“I am worried about you, Sir,” Alfred says. “And that’s why you’re going to stay in bedrest until I see fit.”

“What?” Batman twists, glaring at Alfred over his shoulder. “What do you mean, bedrest? I’m _fine._ This is stupid,” he grumbles. “Dick doesn’t have to stay in bed.”

“Master Bruce,” Alfred sighs. “You’ve been terribly mal-nourished for the past several weeks. In the last forty-eight hours alone, you’ve not eaten or drunk. The most I can say is that you keep consistent sleeping hours, if unhealthy ones.”

“Stop talking,” Batman mutters.

“You collapsed, Master Bruce,” Alfred says solidly. “You lost consciousness on the floor of that theater, in front of a crowd, a cast, and-”

“No, don’t,” Batman says, starting to sit up, but it’s too late.

“-in front of your Greatest Enemy,” Alfred finishes.

The darkness doesn’t actually come this time, but it certainly feels like it. It also feels like every single lobster Batman’s ever eaten is trying to wriggle its way free of his stomach in some terrible act of vengeance. Batman groans into his pillow, trying to block out the sheer _everything._

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says, voice wavering on concern. He puts a hand on Batman’s shoulder, over the covers. “I was only trying to make the point that this could be dangerous,” he says gently. “If I hadn’t been there listening, you might have been…” He doesn’t finish, but Batman doesn’t know what’s supposed to go next.

“Dead?” he says, sitting up. The room spins. He ignores it. “Please. Like Joker could ever-”

Something happens, then. Something in the back of his throat goes dry, and whatever words he’d been trying to say fall flat and useless on his tongue. And deep, deep in his chest, something tugs.

Alfred blinks. “Master Bruce?”

“Whatever,” Batman grumbles, flopping back over on his side.

Alfred seems to understand that now is not the time to pry, because he just gives another Father Figure Sigh and pats Batman’s shoulder again.

“I’ll send some breakfast in, in a while,” he says. Batman forces his eyes shut. “In the meantime, Master Bruce. Do try to get some sleep.”

The door shuts softly, and Batman tugs a pillow between his arms and falls.

* * *

“Okay, run it by me one more time. _Why_ did you break up with him?”

Joker throws up his hands, sinking into the gigantic armchair in the middle of the living room. Harley, next to him, crosses her arms accusingly. The rest of the villains are laid out in a semicircle, facing him.

“Look,” he says. “It- it was a spur of the moment type deal, you know. When you think something, and then you just gotta-” He makes a vague gesture with his hands. “Do it. You know?”

“And you thought you’d break up with Batman,” Harley extrapolates. “On stage. In front of a million people.”

The dozen or so villains all seem to raise their eyebrows in tandem.

“Well,” Joker says. “Well. I.”

“You said you weren’t gonna,” Harley chides him. “You said your plan was to make him see what it was like without you, make him want you back. Not _dump him.”_

“Well- well-” Joker splutters. “Well, why shouldn’t I dump him?”

The room gives a collective gasp. Crazy Quilt touches a hand to his chest, shocked.

Harley groans. “Boo-boo, I _told_ you. You can’t just let this one go. We all know you, we’ve all seen it. Right, guys?” She looks to the room for support, and they all nod. “Batman’s good for you, J-J. You always do your best work when it’s for him.”

“That’s right,” Killer Croc pipes up. “Remember the submarine?”

“Everyone remembers the submarine,” Joker grumbles. “Everyone remembers what _happened_ to it. Blown to pieces a mile off the coast, and we all had to swim to shore. I don’t remember getting a ride from anyone, do you?”

Croc winces. Crazy Quilt pats his shoulder. “What about the multi-helicopter?” he points out. “That one was pretty cool.”

The room gives a rumble of encouragement. Harley tries for a smile.

“He blew that one up, too!” Joker groans, smacking his head back against the chair. “And the double decker bus. And the house-on-wheels. _And_ my car. My _car.”_

“Boo-boo,” Harley says gently. “You’re Greatest Enemies, you’re supposed to ruin each other’s stuff.”

“Well, I never get to ruin _his,”_ Joker spits. “It’s the same thing, Harley, every single time. I give him everything I’ve got, and what do I get? What do I get?”

No one says anything to that.

Joker shakes his head and hops out of the chair, arms folded. “I appreciate the intervention,” he says, “but I think I just need some time alone right now.”

“J-J,” Harley tries. She reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, but he catches it.

“Girlbuddy,” Joker says, shaking his head. “Just. Let me go.”

* * *

Bedrest is the worst.

Bedrest becomes slightly less The Worst when Alfred eventually caves in and unlocks Computer again. So now, even if he’s not allowed to get up out of bed to go work on his ab routine, he can partially satisfy himself with daytime TV. And Netflix. And-

“Mario Kart?” Robin squeals, holding up the box. Batman narrows his eyes.

“What about it?”

“I _love_ Mario Kart.” Robin holds the box to his chest, looking dreamily at the ceiling. “Can we play? Please, please, _please?”_

“You know how to drive in real life,” Batman points out. “I fail to see how this is any different. Besides, you’ve driven the Batmobile, literally the best car in the entire universe. How can a _fake_ car be any better? Actually, no, I’ll answer that for you right now- it can’t.”

“Oh,” Robin says. “Well.” And he looks down at the box, sadly. “We had a Wii, back in the Orphanage.”

Batman narrows his eyes and waits.

“And… there was only one controller, because they couldn’t afford enough for all of us,” Robin sighs. “And all the other orphans loved to play so much, I just couldn’t take that away from them. So I always let them play instead of me.”

He bites his lip, and the room sort of spins around him. Batman presses a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes. The spinning slows, but doesn’t stop just yet.

“I’ve watched every single level,” Robin continues, “but… I’ve never been able to play.”

Batman screws his eyes shut, and the spinning stops.

“Padre?” Robin says carefully. “Are you okay? Was this too much?”

“No,” Batman says, shaking his head. “I’m fine.”

“Because I was thinking,” Robin gushes. “It could be, like, a father-son bonding thing!”

Batman cracks his eyes open through the cowl and stares at Robin. “If you think playing Mario Kart with someone forms bonds instead of breaking them, you’ve obviously never played Mario Kart.”

“Exactly!” Robin chirps brightly. “You can teach me!”

Batman drops his head to his pillow with an exasperated sigh. “Fine,” he mutters. “Tell Alfred to set it up.”

* * *

_“Hey. It’s me. J-Bird._

_“Listen. B-Man. I, uh. I don’t know what you saw or heard last night, but. Whatever it was you didn’t like, do you think you could tell me? Because you’ve seemed pretty cool with everyone else down at the main pad, so when you didn’t come back-_

_“I mean, this might just be me worrying, but I feel like it’s me. Did I do something? Did I say something?_

_“Look, just._

_“Call me back. Please.”_

* * *

Batman doesn’t throw around the term ‘fun’ all that often, but watching Robin ram himself into a wall over and over and _over_ again is absolutely, completely, the most fun thing Batman’s ever done in his life.

“Oh, Geez,” Robin mutters, as his car reverses off the wall- only to do a little tailspin and smash right back into it. The game offers a helpful _crash_ ing sound. Batman hides a snort under the blankets.

“No, no, keep going,” he says, slowing his own car to a stop, feet away from the finish line. “You’ll get it.”

“You really think so?” Robin asks, tearing his eyes off the screen to blink owlishly back at Batman. And. Gosh-

Dang it-

Batman smiles. “Yeah, I think so,” he says. “Look. Think about it like this. When you’re going back, turn the wheels in the direction you want the _back_ wheels to go.”

Robin nods, whipping back around to the screen. He thumbs over the controller slowly, biting his lip between his teeth- and the car backs off the wall flawlessly, sliding right back into the racing track.

“I did it!” Robin yells, beaming back at Batman. “Padre, you’re the _best_ teacher!”

“I know,” Batman says, nodding sagely. “But the best teacher couldn’t get anywhere without the best listener.”

Robin sucks in a breath, dropping the controller and bringing his hands to his face. “Do you mean me?” he stage-whispers.

“Wh- yes,” Batman says. “That was implied.”

 _“Yes!”_ Robin shouts, jumping into the air. “I’m the best at listening, _ha!”_

“Yep. The best,” Batman says. “In…” The world? That seems like a stretch. Always leave room for improvement. “…Gotham,” he finishes. Robin starts to vibrate.

“Uh,” says a voice. “Sorry to interrupt this… weird bonding thing.” Barbara looks between the two of them, and then spots the Mario Kart screen on the opposite wall. “Huh, all right. Normal bonding things. You’re getting better.”

“Miss Barbara!” Robin jumps to his feet and does a little salute before running up to hug her. Barbara takes a step back to brace herself, but gives him a quick pat on the head.

“Listen,” she says, and Robin’s eyes widen so much that Batman thinks they just might break out of his glasses from the sheer size of their vulnerability.

“I’m listening,” he whispers.

“Um,” Barbara says, still trying to smile. “Great. Look, do you think I could have a minute with your Dad? Alone?”

Robin looks over at Batman.

“No,” Batman says. “No, we’re doing important. Things.”

“Yeah!” Robin says, immediately taking Batman’s side in the apparent argument. “We’re doing important things.”

“Mario Kart is important?” Barbara raises an eyebrow at Batman. “Batman, this is important. We need to talk.”

“I don’t _want_ to talk,” Batman grumbles.

“Here we go,” Barbara mutters. “Look, I’m going to talk about it whether you want to or not. So if you really want the kid listening in, so be it.”

“Go away, Dick,” Batman says.

“Okay!” Robin chirps. “Bye, Batman! Bye, Miss Barbara!”

Barbara shuts the door after him and lets out a breath. Batman glares at her.

“I was teaching him how to drive,” he grumbles. “That’s an important life lesson. And now one of these days he’s going have to drive for real and he won’t know how- and it’ll be _your fault._ Think about that.”

“I don’t think Mario Kart’s the best tool for driving lessons,” Barbara starts, but shakes her head. “That’s not what I came here to talk about- this is.”

And she pulls from her coat a fresh newspaper, bearing the headline ‘ _Is Bruce Wayne Joking?’_

“Not that creative,” Batman says. “They could have done better.”

“Okay,” Barbara says, tossing the paper onto Batman’s bed and leaning on the wall, crossing her arms. “Okay, listen to me. You’re going to explain this, right now-”

“No I’m not.”

“-because you have never explained _anything_ to me before.”

“Yes I have.”

“And I was willing to let it slide because we were kind of in a life-or-death-save-the-city thing at the time-”

“Obviously a fair judgement.”

“-but not this time.” Barbara shakes her head. “You didn’t explain about who your son was, you didn’t explain about going to the Phantom Zone and coming back- or about the fact that you were supposed to go _back-_ and you didn’t explain about the fact that you were _Bruce Wayne in a bat mask._ But you’re sure as heck going to explain this one.”

Batman shoves the paper away.

“Because if I find out you’ve been meeting up with Gotham’s most-wanted criminal on a regular basis,” Barbara says, voice deadly, “then you’re going to be in a world of trouble. I’m talking to Bruce Wayne right now, Batman.”

Think, he has to think.

“I was,” he says. Barbara’s raised eyebrow raises even higher, until it disappears under her hairline. “Going,” Batman says. “Undercover.”

“Explain,” Barbara says coldly. “Because from what a few eyewitness accounts were able to tell- according to the Joker, he and Bruce Wayne are friends, now.”

Batman’s eye twitches at the word _Joker._ “That’s what he thinks,” he says. “We’re not actually friends.”

“Right, well,” Barbara says, reaching down and opening the paper. “There’s an interview in here, _with Joker.”_

“No,” Batman says. “Don’t-”

 _“Question one,”_ Barbara reads. _“You mentioned Bruce Wayne was here tonight with you. Can you elaborate on the nature of your relationship to Gotham’s favorite local celebrity?”_

“It’s already wrong,” Batman mutters. “Batman is Gotham’s favorite celebrity.”

 _“Answer,”_ Barbara says, ignoring him. Batman screws up his face under the mask, bracing himself. _“‘Yes, we’re friends. B-Man and I hang out all the time- strictly under the radar, of course.’_ You’ve been ‘hanging out’ with him?”

“Y…es,” Batman says slowly.

“When did this start?”

“A. While ago.”

“Where?” Barbara demands.

“Just,” Batman says. “Around.”

“You know where his secret hideout is, don’t you,” Barbara says. Batman splutters for a second, but the hesitation is all Barbara needs. “I don’t believe you! Batman- you _know_ what Joker means to this city, to the police force- to _me.”_

“I don’t know anything,” Batman grumbles, crossing his arms.

“Batman,” Barbara mutters, running a hand over your face. “Just. Tell me what you’re doing.”

“No,” Batman says immediately.

“So you’re doing _something,”_ Barbara surmises.

“I’m,” Batman says. And then- “I was going undercover.”

Barbara blinks. “Undercover?”

“Yes.” Batman nods. “To catch.” His mouth opens, closes. Opens again. “Him,” he finishes.

Barbara frowns at the hesitation, but thankfully doesn’t press. “Okay,” she says. “That’s… not a terrible idea, actually.”

“Of course it’s not, it’s my idea.” Batman shrugs.

“So you were trying to catch him?” Barbara prompts.

“Yes.”

“And then you… fainted.”

“I did not _faint.”_ Batman folds his arms, scowling at the wall. “You sound like Alfred.”

“Yeah, well. Alfred and I are both worried about you.” Barbara sighs. “He wouldn’t tell me what happened, exactly, just that you and Joker had some sort of… argument? Which is, y’know, immediately suspicious.”

“Suspicious,” Batman scoffs. “There’s nothing suspicious.”

“Anything that has to do with Joker is suspicious,” Barbara starts, but Batman holds a hand up. “Uh. What?”

“Do you think,” Batman says. “Do you think you could not. Say that?”

“Say what?”

“What you just said. Don’t say it again.”

“Batman.” Barbara pinches the bridge of her nose. “Do you seriously not want me to say Joker’s name?”

Batman tugs the covers over his head.

“Right, that’s weird,” Barbara says. “Uh. Are you okay?”

“Yep, fine,” Batman says. “A hundred percent fine.”

“Right.” Barbara sighs. “So… you’re still going undercover?”

“Yep. Absolutely.” Batman pokes his head out from the covers, glaring at Barbara over the edge. An incredible idea comes to mind, then- as so many do, so often- and he gives a little _tch,_ rolling his eyes. “I mean, now he doesn’t even think Batman’s after him anymore.”

“He doesn’t?” Barbara blinks, standing off the wall. “Batman, that’s really good news!”

“Yeah,” Batman says through gritted teeth. “Great news.”

“Huh.” Barbara gives a little laugh. “You know, Batman, I’m impressed.” She nods. “I know how much you care about your reputation with-” She catches herself just in time, and shakes her head fondly. “With him. But if you’re really willing to give that up to catch him…”

“Right, sure,” Batman says. “You’ve got your weird moral-personal growth-heartwarming-story thing. Now go away. I’m busy.”

“All right, all right.” Barbara shrugs, heading for the door. “You want me to tell the kid to come back?”

Batman looks at the Mario Kart screen, where their two cars are still waiting on the track, race unfinished. He looks at the newspaper on his bed, headline mocking him. He stares at it for a moment before kicking the blankets over it. 

“Yeah," he says. "We've got a race to finish."

* * *

This will work. This will definitely work.

Joker nudges the second bunch of flowers over the first so they’re perfectly aligned- pink-yellow-white-red-pink-red. He thumbs over the bottom, double checking that he hadn’t accidentally stuck a bomb underneath just for fun. When he comes up empty, he gives a little breath of relief and knocks on the door, rocking on the balls of his feet.

His nice suit is gone today, he’s stuck with his waistcoat and shirt. He’s not trying to dress to impress, not this time.

The door gives a little groan as it swings in, and a man looks out. Joker frowns.

“Er,” he says. “Who are you?”

“My name is Alfred,” says the man. “I am Master Wayne’s butler.”

“Have we met?” Joker cocks his head to the side.

Alfred’s eyes narrow. “I don’t believe so, Sir.”

“You sure about that?” Joker frowns. “Because you kinda seem- nevermind, that’s not the point. Look, I gotta talk to Brucie, can you get him for me?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Alfred says, and starts to close the door. Panicking, Joker shoves his foot in front of it. Alfred glances down- and slams the door as hard as he can.

 _“Ow,_ what the _heck-_ okay, okay, just listen-” Joker puts a hand on the door, forcing it open. “Just- if he doesn’t want to talk, can you just give him these?” And with the other hand he holds out the flowers.

Alfred takes them wordlessly, still pulling the door shut. He’s surprisingly strong, for a man who looks to be about seventy five _million_ years old.

“And tell him I’m sorry for whatever it is he’s mad at me about,” Joker adds. “And- and I want to talk, and-”

“Good day, Sir,” Alfred says, and gives Joker’s foot a kick, knocking it out of the way of the door. Joker has one, last look at Alfred’s face- staring daggers directly into Joker’s eyes in a glowering scowl that could honestly out-freeze Mr. Freeze-

Before the door slams shut in his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alfred is s a v a g e
> 
> today's rec is [Schwubs](https://jokin-around.tumblr.com/) (aka jokin-around on tumblr)! They make super rad art go give em a looksee  
> (also if you didn't check out that art up at the top please do!! it is aMAZING AND I AM HONESTLY SO BLESSED)


	6. Chapter 6

“Hey.”

_“Brucie?”_

“No. This is-”

_“Batman, put Bruce on the line.”_

“J-Bird, listen.”

_“I’m not listening to anything you have to say, Batman. Either put Bruce on the line or I’m hanging up.”_

“Wait- I wanted to-”

The line goes dead.

“Talk,” Batman finishes dully. He throws his phone across the room and buries his face into his pillows.

* * *

_“J-Bird, this is Batman. I mean. You probably know that, but. This is Bruce Wayne’s phone, so. I'm just making sure._

_“Listen, uh. Call me back when you get this, okay?_

_“Okay. Bye.”_

* * *

_“Jokes, come on, talk to me. You can't just ignore me forever, that's stupid._

_“This is stupid. You’re stupid._

_“Wait, no, I didn’t mean that. You’re._

_“You’re really. Annoying me, right now. Please call me back.”_

* * *

_“I’m just saying, all right, there has to be a misunderstanding here. You didn't mean that._

_“I mean, we’ve always been enemies, right? You said it yourself, we’ve got. A thing. You can’t just throw that away-_

_“Call me back.”_

* * *

_“Also, Bruce Wayne says you’re dumb. And stupid. And a butt. He really thinks you're a butt. Call me back.”_

* * *

_“He didn’t actually say that, don’t listen to me._

_“Call me back.”_

* * *

Batman wakes up four days after being sentenced to bedrest and walks right out of bed and into the kitchens.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says, watching Batman rummage around in the fridge. “You’re supposed to be on bedrest, as I told you. You’re still-”

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence, Alfred,” Batman growls, pulling out a plate of lobster thermidor.

“Sir, you cannot have lobster for every single meal,” Alfred says tiredly. “I know it’s-”

“It’s my _favorite.”_ Batman shuts the fridge, glowering at Alfred. “I will eat my lobster if I want to, Alfred.”

“Well.” Alfred sighs. “You certainly seem in better shape, now that you’ve had some proper food and rest. Are you feeling any better?”

“Nope,” Batman says, heading to the microwave. “Because I’m fine, and I was already fine. Just the same as I always am.”

Alfred seems to steel himself. “Sir, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“No,” Batman says, shoving his plate of lobster into the microwave and plugging it in for two minutes.

“Sir.” Alfred struts to the microwave, reaches behind it, and tugs at the cord. The appliance gives a feeble stutter and then dies, trapping Batman’s half-cold lobster thermidor inside.

“Alfred! What the _heck.”_

“Sir, you’re going to talk to me,” Alfred says. “I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“No, I’m not,” Batman growls. “You plug that back in, right now.”

“No.”

“You’re fired.”

“Sir.”

“I am _not_ talking about anything,” Batman huffs. “Ever.”

“We’ve had this discussion,” Alfred points out. “I must say, I’m rather disappointed.”

“Impossible.” Batman crosses his arms, the ties of his bathrobe swishing at his side. “No one can be disappointed in Batman.”

“I am not disappointed in Batman,” Alfred says. “I am disappointed in you.”

Batman says nothing to this. He hates when Alfred does this- when Alfred somehow, impossibly, manages to be _right_ about something. Alfred hasn’t even brought his point up, but Batman knows he’s going to be right about it. This is the _worst._

"You’re going to make me talk about my feelings,” Batman guesses, making air quotations at the last word. “Well, guess what, I’m not gonna do that. Everything is fine, I am feeling fine. See? I just did it. Talked about how I’m feeling. So we’re done here.”

“I’m not going to make you talk- about anything,” Alfred says, shrugging. “I’ve tried many times, certainly.”

“That’s right,” Batman says smugly. “So. Wait, so, what did you want?”

“These were delivered for you a few days ago, Sir.” And Alfred reaches under his suit-jacket and pulls out a bouquet. Batman frowns, looking at Alfred’s jacket. Hm. Maybe it’s made out of the same stuff as his Bat-suit. Extra pockets.

“A few days ago?” Batman stares at the flowers. “What- Alfred, why didn’t you give them to me?”

“I was instructed to give them to you,” Alfred continues, holding the flowers out, “I wasn’t instructed to give them to you immediately _.”_ He gives a smug look. Batman scowls and makes to turn away, but Alfred continues. “I was also told to deliver the message that someone is, and I quote.” Alfred clears his throat. “ _Sorry for whatever it is he’s mad at me about.”_ And he gives a smug little smile that just digs right under Batman's skin. 

“I’m not mad at anyone,” Batman says, crossing his arms.

“Well, Sir. Joker certainly seems to think you are. Ah.” He raises his eyebrows as Batman’s legs and arms lock together, freezing him solidly in place. “That’s the matter, I presume?” The smug smile spreads until it's almost a grin- but Alfred's much too proper for things like grinning. He schools his face back into a mild smug smile, still looking expectantly at Batman.

“There’s. Nothing. Nothing’s the _matter.”_

Batman tugs his robe tighter around himself, heading out of the kitchen. Alfred follows him without pause, still holding out the flowers.

“You are going to do more harm to yourself than good if you refuse to face this,” Alfred warns him.

“There’s nothing to _face,”_ Batman spits. “Everything is _fine._ He hates me, I hate him, he’s happy-best-buddies with Bruce Wayne, everything is happy-darn-dandy, so leave me alone.”

“Bruce-” Alfred stops short. Batman keeps walking, and Alfred has to jog to keep up. “Sir, what exactly do you mean by that?”

“Oh, nothing.” Batman rolls his eyes. “Nothing, I don’t mean anything by it. It’s not like I have a problem with it, or anything.”

“A problem with… Bruce Wayne,” Alfred says slowly.

“Oh, yeah, no, he’s _great,”_ Batman grumbles. “He’s all nice and charming and rich, and he gets to call him _J-Bird,_ and he has his own nickname which is stupid and _obviously_ supposed to be my nickname because it’s two letters away from actually _being my name.”_ And whoa, all right. Floodgates are open.

And it feels… good, actually. Just yelling about this. He almost wants to punch something.

“Sir,” Alfred says.

“So why should I care if there’s no ‘we’? Because he’s _obviously_ better off with Bruce _freaking_ Wayne- everyone in his little mansion even likes Bruce Wayne. He likes Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne gets flowers, why should anything be the _matter?”_

“Sir.”

“Now he’s got Bruce Wayne to think about, why does he need me anymore?” Batman rants, stomping past the entry room and heading down another hallway. He doesn’t care where he’s going, he just knows that he can’t stand still and say this. Alfred, however, darts in front of him, blocking the doorway into the armory.

“Sir,” he says. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but you are Bruce Wayne.”

“Well, duh. Obviously.” Batman rolls his eyes. “But I’m not _Bruce Wayne.”_

Alfred frowns. “You can’t honestly tell me that you’re… jealous.” He pauses. “Of. Yourself.”

Batman huffs, tugging his robe around and turning to head back down the hallway. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Alfred,” he grumbles.

Alfred heaves a sigh that’s somehow Bigger than all of his other sighs. It’s a sigh that stops Batman’s feet from shuffling down the hallway, a sigh that stops the words _goodbye, Alfred_ from leaving his mouth, a sigh that reminds him of every single time in his life that Alfred has been there to pick him up and put him back on his feet again. Batman inhales slowly, turning on his heels to face Alfred again.

“What,” he says.

“I think you should talk to him,” Alfred says simply. “You’re not doing anyone any good by moping around here.”

“And whose fault is that?” Batman snaps. “You’re the one who put me on bedrest.”

Alfred frowns.

“Ss,” Batman says. “Sorry.” He scowls, folding his arms.

“Apology accepted.” Alfred nods. “Promise me you’ll at least try, Sir?” And he holds out the flowers.

Batman squints at them for a moment before snatching them from Alfred’s hands.

* * *

Joker doesn’t miss Batman.

Joker doesn’t even _think_ about Batman.

Joker doesn’t think about Bruce Wayne, either.

Because if he thinks about Bruce Wayne, he feels like he’s going to throw up. And if he thinks about Batman, he feels like he wants to punch something. Or blow something up. Or both.

Less than a week ago, he’d had them both, and now he has neither. Is this some kind of divine retribution? Is this the world finally making him pay back for everything he’s done? What, had blowing up town hall a few times really warranted this?

It’s not fair. It’s not _fair._ Everyone gets what they want, except him. Batman gets to be alone, the jerk. Batman gets to live his life and never have to worry about Joker ever again. That’s what he’d wanted from the beginning- and even after his so-called ‘change’. He’d tried, for a little while, but he’s still the same. And now he gets to just _be._

And Bruce Wayne?

Well. Bruce Wayne gets to be Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne doesn’t need Gotham’s Clown Prince to hog the spotlight. Bruce Wayne probably has a hundred thousand friends as is, why should Joker get in the way of that?

Idiot. He’s been an _idiot._

“You are not an idiot.”

“All this time,” he wails, draping himself over the entire plush chair, arms splayed over the sides. “All this time.”

“J-J, listen to me. No.”

But Harley’s words fall on deaf ears. “And to think,” Joker sighs. “To think I let myself _believe.”_

“J-J!”

“Is this what it feels like to die?” Joker moans, staring blankly up at his bedroom ceiling. “I’ve always wondered.”

“Okay. You know what?”

Harley tugs the handle at the base of the chair, and the thing props back upright, flinging Joker back upright with a _“waugh-”_

“I have had it up to _here_ with your moping,” Harley says crossly, face inches from Joker’s. “I asked if you wanted to talk. _Talk._ Not whine and moan. I am _not_ here to be your counselor, J-J, you got that?”

“Girlbuddy,” Joker tries.

“Uh-uh. Do not _Girlbuddy_ me,” Harley snaps. “You’re not doing anyone any favors by sulking and sighing and complaining like this, understand?”

“But.” Joker sniffs. “But it’s not _fair.”_

“Life isn’t fair.” Harley shrugs. “The least you can do is build something out of it.”

Joker crosses his arms. “I don’t want to build anything out this. The only thing I’ll be able to build is sadness.”

“Oh, Boo-Boo,” Harley sighs. She sits on the armrest, putting a hand on his shoulder. He leans into the touch, letting out a breath and looking blankly at the empty wall on the other side of the room. The rest of the villains had moved his favorite chair up here after he’d refused to come out for two days straight.

Geez. Even they care more than Batman does-

Joker hugs his arms around his middle, curling into the back corner of the chair and staring at the crack between the cushions.

Harley sighs. “All right, J-J,” she says. “Come on, get up.” She tugs at his arm, forcing him up. He hunches over, arms still crossed tight. “J-J,” Harley says. “Gimme a smile.”

Joker tries.

Harley winces. “Okay, forget the smile. Just.” She looks helplessly at him. “Let’s do something. Something that’ll make you feel better.”

“Nothing will make me feel better,” Joker says, staring her straight in the eyes.

“Uh,” says Crazy Quilt’s voice from behind the door. “Boss?”

“He’s busy!” Harley calls. “I thought I told you.”

“Yeah, um.” Crazy Quilt hesitates. “There’s just, kind of. A problem?”

Harley rolls her eyes. “There’s always a problem,” she mutters. “I’ll take care of this, Boo-Boo.”

“No, don’t,” Crazy Quilt says, voice slightly muffled. “He’s busy, you can’t just-”

“Sorry,” a new voice says, and Joker’s entire body goes rigid, “but this is important.”

“Harley,” Joker says blankly.

“I gotcha, Boo-Boo,” Harley says, nodding. “Good luck!” She whips around to the door just as it opens, and slips past the man standing behind it before he can get a good look at her. Her hair brushes the doorway for a split second before she’s gone, and then it’s just them.

For a moment, the sound of Harley’s and Crazy Quilt’s footsteps heading back down to the main floor are the only sounds they can hear, and then Bruce Wayne clears his throat.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Joker says.

“You,” Bruce Wayne says, and reaches under his jacket. He pulls out the bouquet, which looks a little bedraggled. One of the flowers is missing, and the top stems aren’t quite aligned anymore. “You left this at mine.” And he steps over to Joker’s chair and holds it out.

Joker takes it and just holds it, looking first at the stems and then back up at Bruce Wayne, more than a little lost for words. His bottom tooth digs into his lip as he tries to think of something to say. Is Bruce Wayne giving him the flowers back because he doesn’t want them? Why had he come all the way over here to say so?

“Those are for you,” Bruce Wayne says suddenly, tearing Joker’s attention back. Bruce Wayne gives a sheepish little smile. “There’s nothing wrong with them, but. There _is_ a note attached to the bottom, just a heads-up.”

Joker’s breath comes out in a little burst that might be a gasp or might be a laugh, he doesn’t know which.

“I was gonna let you figure that one out on your own,” Bruce Wayne continues, smile growing, “but I thought I’d be polite.”

Joker gives the sniffle-laugh again, turning the flowers over. And sure enough, somehow, the bottom ring holds a letter, stuck on hastily with what looks like glue. Joker pries it off, tears the wax seal, and begins to read.

_‘J-Bird,_

_I’m sorry._

_I don’t usually say ‘I’m sorry’, so know I mean that when I say it. I can’t tell you everything (a gentleman doesn’t give away all his secrets, after all), but I can tell you that I wish I could have come back. And that I want to try again, if you’ll let me._

_Running away is easy. But running back is harder._

_\- B-Man’_

“Oh,” Joker says, as he follows the last curve of the ‘n’ as it flicks up into a curl. He goes back to the top of the page and reads the whole thing again, every word, every letter.

“I,” Bruce Wayne says, taking a step back. “Wasn’t thinking. About you. Enough.” Joker stares, as Bruce Wayne knots his hands together nervously. “I didn’t think about… how. You’d.” He takes a breath. “Feel.”

Joker folds the letter carefully back into three parts, throat too tight to actually make sound.

“And-” Bruce Wayne adds hastily. “And I’m.”

Joker waits, watching Bruce Wayne flounder. His mouth works around the word as he looks about the room, trying to focus on anything but Joker’s face.

“Brucie,” Joker says. “Look at me.”

Bruce Wayne looks at him. Joker smiles.

“Sorry,” Bruce Wayne says, and then he seems to deflate a little, the rest of his breath rushing out of him. “I’m. Sorry.” He shifts a little, like he’s just remembering something. “And I brought some things for the- mansion. Just, you know. As an apology. Gift. Thing.”

“Oh, Brucie.” Joker throws the flowers onto his bed along with the note, jumping up out of his chair. His waistcoat is unbuttoned and his tattoos are showing and none of this is right, but it doesn’t really matter. Bruce Wayne’s seen him without his coat before, Bruce Wayne knows him.

“I brought you a foosball table. And a pinball machine. And your TV was looking kind of small, so I put another one in- plasma screen, plays Blu-rays,” Bruce Wayne goes on, words coming faster and faster. “Well, not just Blu-rays, it can play regular DVDs too. And. I signed you up for HBO and Netflix, I gave the log-in details to the Quilt guy so I think that’s taken care of-”

“Brucie.”

“And there’s also a Wii- I didn’t know exactly how many controllers you needed, so. I just got a bulk bag, there should be enough. I didn’t get extra batteries, but-”

“B-Man.”

That stops him short.

“Yeah, J-Bird?” Bruce Wayne says, trying again for a smile.

“I forgive you,” Joker says, shaking his head. He takes the two strides across his little room to grab Bruce Wayne around the middle, tugging him into a hug. Bruce Wayne freezes, but then- slowly, slowly, his arms squeeze around Joker’s middle, too. Joker smiles. “Of course I forgive you.”

“You ever played Mario Kart?” Bruce Wayne asks. Joker shakes his head.

“Never had the time,” he admits.

“Then I hope your butt’s ready to get kicked,” Bruce Wayne says. And Joker laughs.

“B-Man, my butt’s been kicked more times than you can even begin to imagine.”

* * *

By all accounts, it’s a miracle that the plan’s going as well as it is. Joker is happy, which.

Is important. For some reason.

It’s not like Batman cares whether or not Joker is happy, but. That’ll make it easier to sway him back towards talking to him again. Talking to Batman. Joker’s already talking to Bruce Wayne. Man, multiple-identity stuff is annoying sometimes.

But, yes. If Joker’s happy with Bruce Wayne, then he’s one step closer to being happier with Batman. And, okay, this probably hadn’t been what Alfred had had in mind when he’d said “talk to him”, but Batman’s ideas are always the best ideas. So this plan is going to work, because of course it is.

“Is that Mario Kart?”

“Oh, hey, Catman,” Joker calls, waving from the newly-moved armchair. Why it had been in Joker’s room, Batman doesn’t know. “You wanna join?”

Catman squints. “I’ve never played,” he says.

“Well, take off your claws and jump in,” Joker says, tossing a controller over. Catman tries to catch it, but his claws knock the thing to the floor. He eyes it skeptically.

“We have a Wii, now?” he asks.

“We sure do, thanks to Brucie over here- who was _very generous,”_ Joker coos, smiling over at Batman. On the screen, Joker’s car slides right off the edge of the road. Batman snorts.

Catman narrows his eyes at Batman, but plucks the claws out of his hands and pockets them. “Generous,” he repeats, picking up the controller and plopping himself down in one of the slightly less magnificent chairs surrounding the new TV.

“Yep.” Joker grins, but the grin stops when he sees the look on Catman’s face. “Hey, none of that. Be nice to Bruce, you hear me? All of you.” He looks over the back of his own fully magnificent armchair at the rest of the crew, who are all staring un-subtly at Batman. “If I hear word of any of you being mean to him, mark my words, I will turn you in to Arkham myself. Am I clear?”

They all chorus in varying tones of _yes_ and _all right._

“Good,” Joker says, turning back to the TV.

“Can I join?” asks Crazy Quilt, appearing out of thin air beside Batman.

“Uh,” he says. “Sure. Controllers are over there.”

“What about me?” Killer Croc cuts in, nudging in beside Crazy Quilt.

“Oh, uh.” Batman clears his throat. “Well, there’s only four players in one race, so. We’re gonna have to take turns.”

“Oh.” Croc nods sadly. “Okay.”

“Here,” Crazy Quilt says, tossing Croc a controller. “You go first, I’ll watch.”

“No, no,” Croc says. “You were here first.”

“You were here second,” Crazy Quilt says.

“That doesn’t even make sense-”

“Just race, Croc, I’ll take the next one.”

Beaming, Croc takes the controller and flicks the back switch on, sitting down on the floor in front of the screen. Crazy Quilt plops down beside him and mutters something. Croc snorts, turning the Wii remote to the side. Crazy Quilt reaches out and turns it the other way around.

“Hey,” Joker says. Batman starts, jolting around to look at him.

“Uh,” he says. “Yeah?”

Joker gives a look around the room, at Croc and Crazy Quilt bickering, at Catman biting his lip as he tries to figure out how to steer, at the back room where March Hare and Tarantula are fighting a vicious foosball battle against Mime and Poison Ivy as Man-Bat watches intently from the middle, keeping score meticulously- and at Batman, sitting in the second nicest chair in the room, a controller in his hand and his car soaring along the racetrack.

“Thanks,” Joker says. He laughs a little. “This, uh, means a lot. As annoying and incompetent as they are sometimes-”

“Hey,” Crazy Quilt pipes up, sending a half-hearted glare at Joker.

“-they’re still like my little family, you know,” Joker finishes, giving Crazy Quilt a look.

Batman’s hands clench down on the Wiimote.

“And, well.” Joker takes a breath. “If you’re willing to be a part of it, I mean.” He looks over at Batman, tooth hanging on his bottom lip. “You’re more than welcome.”

Family.

Right. That’s.

Hm.

Joker’s family is here. And they’re all… together. All the time. And. Joker. Wants him here? No. Joker wants _Bruce Wayne_ here. Batman isn’t any closer to fixing the problem with him and Joker, he’s not even close. Joker’s never going to want to talk to him again, he’s just going to want Bruce freaking Wayne, and it’s this mess all over again, and what is he doing _wrong?_

This would be so much easier if Joker would just _talk_ to Batman, but he won’t. And why on earth won’t he? Why doesn’t he want to talk to Batman? Hadn’t Batman been proving his point about being greatest enemies by coming to the show to stop him? Why is Joker so upset?

Why is everything so _complicated?_

Sure, all right, Batman can admit he’d made a mistake way back when, the night the city had almost blown up. But he’d fixed it, hadn’t he? He’d changed.

Isn’t that enough?

It’s about five more seconds before Batman realizes he’s stopped talking. His car falls off the edge four times before Joker tugs the remote out of his hands, frowning.

“B-Man? You all right?”

“What,” Batman says, rearranging himself in his seat and looking around. Pressed suits aren’t really the best attire for lounging in armchairs, so his sleeves ride up and he slips down to the floor with a _clack._

“I’m fine,” he says, standing up and dusting himself off. “Totally. Fine, yeah. Fine.”

He’s wasting time here. Why is he still playing Mario Kart with a room full of C-list villains?

“You sure?” Joker offers the controller out. “Because we’ve got a whole fridge full of leftovers if you want ‘em.”

“Can I ask you something?” he says, ignoring the controller. Joker shrugs, crossing his legs.

* * *

“Sure, fire away,” Joker says, and then frowns. “It’s not gonna be ‘why do you hate Gotham’ again, is it? Because you already asked that one.” He gives a cheeky wink. Bruce Wayne doesn’t smile- and it’s a split second warning that something’s wrong, before-

“Why do you hate Batman?”

It’s like setting off a bomb.

Around the room, everyone stops. Someone hits the pause button on the race, and Croc, Crazy Quilt, and Catman all stare between Joker and Bruce Wayne. The foosball table goes silent. The pinball machine gives one last ring before it, too, closes its mouth and listens.

Joker blinks. And then, slowly, he takes back the controller. Bruce Wayne doesn’t even reach out to try to take it back.

“…what?”

“I asked,” Bruce Wayne says slowly, “why you hate Batman.”

“I,” Joker says. The word _don’t_ stops before he can even begin to draw breath to say it, because it’s not true. It’s never been true.

Bruce Wayne stands up, and the overhead light vanishes behind his head. Joker shrinks in his shadow, wondering if it can swallow him up whole if he concentrates hard enough.

“This,” he says, “you.”

“Answer me,” Bruce Wayne says, and his face doesn’t hold a shred of that charm, that swagger. He’s a blank slate- hard, cold, marble. “You won’t talk to him whenever he tries to-”

And Joker is _tired_ of people putting on masks.

“I see what this is,” he says, sitting up in his chair. “I see. This was all _Batman’s_ fault, wasn’t it?”

Bruce Wayne’s mask breaks, and the tiniest shred of panic seeps in through the cracks. Joker spots it and latches on.

“You’re not here because you’re sorry,” Joker realizes. “You’re here because Batman wants you to be here. Aren’t you?”

“Listen,” Bruce Wayne says, holding his hands up. Joker stands up, and half of him wishes he had his coattails right now, to make the whole image more impressive.

“You don’t care,” he says, jabbing a hand forward and hitting Bruce Wayne in the chest. “You don’t care about me- or about any of us, do you? You’re just Batman’s little _puppet,_ doing whatever he tells you to do. Admit it!”

“No,” Bruce Wayne stutters.

“All of it, then? Hm?” Joker raises an eyebrow, stepping forward. Bruce Wayne checks over his shoulder as he steps back. “All of it, it was all just some stupid- stupid _scheme,_ just to get me into your good graces.” Joker tries for a malicious smile, but for once it doesn’t come. All his face manages to form is that same, snaggle-toothed glare. The bottom of his lip quivers, but he ignores it. “It was nothing to you,” he says. “Was it?”

“Wait,” Bruce Wayne says. “J-Bird-”

“I don’t think you get to call me that anymore.” Joker shakes his head. “I don’t think you get to call me at _all.”_

“No,” Bruce Wayne says. “No, wait-”

_“Fellas!”_

As one, the room stands. Killer Croc, who’s standing nearest, grabs Bruce Wayne’s arms and holds them behind his back.

“Listen to me,” Bruce Wayne grunts, trying to pull free. Joker snaps, and Crazy Quilt whips a line of cloth around his face, silencing him.

“Now you listen to me,” Joker hisses, stepping as close as he can. “You’re going to run back home to your little mansion, and you’re going to tell Batman something, okay? Lucky you, you get to be the messenger boy for both of us.”

Bruce Wayne shakes his head, still struggling against Killer Croc’s iron grip.

“I want you to tell him,” Joker muses, and this time the smile does come. “That I never, ever, _ever_ want to see him or his rich little roommate ever again. And if I do, well.” He forces out a classic laugh, holding his hands behind his back. “I don’t think any of us want to see that, do you?”

Bruce Wayne… doesn’t look at him with sheer terror, like Joker had expected. But he’s not angry, either. His eyes are wide with what looks like panic, but. It’s not the same kind of panic that Joker’s used to. It’s like he’s afraid of something else.

Probably of what Batman’s going to say when he gets back home empty handed.

Joker steps back and turns away. “Take him out,” he snaps.

“Wait,” Killer Croc says. “You mean, like.”

 _“Outside,”_ Joker clarifies.

“Oh, right.” Croc nods. “Gotcha.”

* * *

“Okay,” Barbara says when she sees Batman stumble through the door sans-mask, covered in claw marks and looking for all the world like he might sink into the ground from sheer despair. “You’re definitely going to have to explain this one.”

She helps him back into his mask and over to the kitchens- he tries to take one step on his own and his legs nearly give out. It’s ridiculous- he’s _Batman._ He can walk perfectly fine on his own.

“No, you can’t.”

“I can and I’ll prove it.”

“No- Batman, stay still.” Barbara pushes him back down into a chair near the walk-in-freezer. “I’m gonna heat up some… something, and you’re going to eat it, and then you’re going to tell me what’s wrong.”

And there’s nothing Batman can say to that.

The microwave spins in silence as they watch a plate full of lobster thermidor spin slowly. Lobster, Batman has to admit, is getting just a little old.

Barbara takes it out and sets it on the table in front of him, then sticks her hands on her hips expectantly.

“I don’t know what happened,” she says quietly, taking a seat beside him, “but. You’ve been really down. And I’m your friend, so I care about you. You know that, right?”

Batman chews a bite reluctantly. “Yes,” he says, after a moment or two.

“Sir?”

“Padre!”

Barbara and Batman look up as Robin scrambles through the doors to the kitchens, knocking over a set of pots as he runs. Alfred follows behind him, completely ignoring the mess as he looks on worriedly.

“What- why are you here,” Batman says, looking between the two of them.

“Master Dick and I didn’t see you come in,” Alfred explains. “We were, ah. Racing.”

“But then Computer said you were really hurt, and that you were talking with Miss Barbara, and you _never_ talk about stuff, and Padre, are you okay?”

“I’m,” Batman says.

Robin finally reaches the other side of the table and squeezes Batman in a hug. It’s.

Different. It’s different.

It’s not the slow hug he’d given Batman back when they were sure they’d never see each other again. And it’s not the happy hugs he gives Batman every other morning, either. It’s. He’s.

He’s scared.

“Hey,” Batman says, and something in his throat grabs onto the word and tugs it back. It stumbles over itself before toppling out of his mouth sideways. His throat clenches, and he closes his mouth and breathes, putting a hand on Robin’s hair. “It’s okay.”

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says carefully, as Robin squeezes his eyes shut and tucks his face into Batman’s chest. Batman’s hand moves seemingly of its own accord, over the curve of Robin’s hair, to his neck, and then back up to the top of his head to start over again.

“I don’t,” Batman says. “Understand.”

“What don’t you understand?” Barbara asks, frowning.

“I… fixed. Things.” Batman frowns. “I fixed them. Didn’t I?”

“You’re certainly much better,” Alfred agrees.

“No,” Batman says. “I’m not just _better,_ I’m different. Right?”

“You’re still you,” Barbara points out. “You still won’t talk about anything personal unless your life depends on it.”

“And you still refuse to take your cowl off indoors,” Alfred adds.

“And you still like ‘Padre’ better than ‘Dad’,” Robin finishes, with a sniffle.

“But.” Batman looks down at Robin, who looks up at him with an impossible smile. Looks up at Barbara and Alfred, who both look back at him. “I changed.”

“Not entirely,” Alfred says.

“I don’t understand,” Batman says again, shaking his head. “I _changed,_ so things should be different now.”

“Change isn’t just,” Barbara makes a vague motion with her hands, “a one-time thing. It’s a lot of work, Batman.”

“Work,” Batman repeats.

“Well, yeah.” Robin looks up at him. “You gotta keep thinking about it all the time, you know? I mean, if it’s a big thing you’re trying to change, it’s not just gonna happen overnight, silly.”

“And you were trying to change a _lot_ of big things,” Barbara finishes, crossing her arms and giving him a knowing smile. “Trust me. I’d be more worried if you _were_ completely different.”

“Sir,” Alfred says, and something in his eyes shines differently than Barbara’s or Robin’s. “Change takes time, and change takes work. It takes attention, and care, and effort. And if you’re not willing to put in that effort…” He raises his eyebrows importantly. “Then you might risk losing something worthwhile.”

Batman blinks, face blank.

“Or,” Alfred says gently. “Someone.”

And the last piece _clicks_ into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~has anyone seen my metaphors?? i DROPPED THEM SOMEWHERE OBVIOUS~~  
>  these are the two most useless gays ive ever seen  
> today's rec is [Kyubiical](http://kyubiical.tumblr.com), who draws really cute joker art!  
> im sorry for all the moping i promise there is less moping next chap  
> there's superman next chap so like? how can you mope when superman's involved???  
> also is anyone counting how many times they've broken up? i think it's at least 3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again to [Kenkennyko](http://kenkennyko.tumblr.com) for another wonderful piece of art for this fic, which you can find [HERE!](http://kenkennyko.tumblr.com/post/157849444166/more-doodles-based-on-the-fanfic-dude-you)  
> and thanks to [brieflyunlikelytidalwave-b6048f3](http://brieflyunlikelytidalwave-b6048f3.tumblr.com) for their art, which you can find [HERE!](http://slenderlock.tumblr.com/post/157806875818/brieflyunlikelytidalwave-b6048f3-submitted-made)
> 
> if you want to make art for this fic PLEASE FEEL FREE! just shoot me a message either here or on tumblr so I can see it!!  
> EDIT: I forgot to mention also- if you make art for this fic that is awesome!! But please either link back here or mention that it was from this fic, wherever you post it! <3

“I’m not going to call him.”

Barbara sighs. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous,” Batman says, folding his arms. On the other side of the room, Robin smacks into the wall and tries to reverse out, but drives right over Alfred’s well-placed stack of banana peels. His car veers off into a tailspin, spilling coins everywhere.

“Apologies, Master Dick,” Alfred hums, passing him and picking up two of his coins along the way.

“This was your idea in the first place,” Barbara points out, crossing her legs where she’s sat on her armchair watching Robin and Alfred race.

“Yeah, well. It’s still my idea. And I’m not calling him.”

“And why the heck not? It’s not like he’s going to bite.”

“No,” Batman agrees grudgingly. “But he’s going to be _insufferable.”_

“He’s Superman.” Barbara shrugs. “He’ll be fine.”

Batman starts to pace around the room, knocking over spare chairs as he goes. Alfred lobs a green shell behind his car, which misses Robin by inches. Robin squeals and tries to dodge belatedly out of the way, running off the edge of the track and falling off.

“I did it again!” he cheers, and Alfred gives him a thumbs-up.

“Huh,” Batman says. “Robin.”

“Yeah, Padre?” Robin looks around, completely abandoning the game. Alfred crosses the finish line and sets his controller down, turning to look at Batman.

“I need you to help me,” Batman says.

“Oh, anything for you, Padre.” Robin hops off the beanbag chair, hurrying over to Batman. “What do you need me to do?”

“I need-”

“Crawl a tunnel underground and find a super-secret-evil lair?”

“No.”

“Ooh, I know- borrow a pair of wings and fly over the city!” Robin’s eyes shine with excitement. “Is that it? Please tell me that’s it!”

“No.”

“Then at least say I get to drive one of the bat-cars,” Robin whines. “Please? Pretty please?”

“I need you to call Superman for me,” Batman says.

“Oh.” Robin deflates a little, and Barbara stands up, reaching out to pat his shoulder.

“Hey, cmon,” she says. “Superman’s cool, right?”

Robin _beams_ up at her, jumping up and down. “Superman- are you _kidding me?_ He’s the _best!_ Even better than Batman-”

“Watch it,” Batman growls.

“Sorry, Padre.” Robin has the good graces to look slightly ashamed of himself. “Right, so. How exactly do you call Superman?”

“Batman, are you sure this is the easiest way of going about this?” Barbara mutters.

“It’ll work,” Batman says. “Trust me. Robin.” He looks down. “Just. Ask him for help. He’ll hear you.”

“Okay!” Robin clears his throat- and immediately goes beet red. “Um,” he says. “Uh. Superman? Excuse me?” Nothing happens. “Superman?”

“Try to sound more,” Batman says. “Panicked. Like you need to be rescued.”

“Got it.” Robin nods, smiling. And then- “Oh, _Superman,_ won’t you come _save_ me?” he whines. “I’m just- so _helpless_ right now, oh gosh.”

“Nope, that’s worse,” Batman says. “Much worse.”

Barbara narrows her eyes. “Maybe,” she says. “You’d sound like you need help if you were under threat.”

“Threat?” Robin gasps.

“Of _tickling,”_ Barbara says, crouching down and reaching out. Robin shrieks, stumbling back over his own feet and falling to the floor.

“No!” he shouts, as Barbara takes a step forward. “No- no tickling, no-”

“Good,” Batman says. “Now try to add in a scream of pain-”

“You do realize I can hear all of you, not just him?” Superman says, in a self-satisfied voice.

Barbara yelps. Alfred gives a jolt, putting a hand on his chest. Batman narrows his eyes, turning around to where Superman hovers a few feet off the ground- why does he always have to _hover?_ Is he just showing off the fact that he doesn’t care about gravity like everyone else does? He’s such a stupid show-off. Batman doesn’t show off.

 _“Superman!”_ Robin gasps, getting to his feet and grabbing the sides of his face as if he has to forcibly keep himself from coming apart at the seams. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my _gosh-”_

“You rang?” Superman says smugly.

“He did,” Batman says. “I didn’t.”

Superman raises an eyebrow. “What do you want, Bats? Make it quick- I’ve got a date with Faora in about ten minutes.”

Batman frowns. “Which one?”

“What- _Faora,”_ Superman says.

“Aren’t there, like, five of her?”

“Not important- Bats. What do you want?”

Robin shoots a hand up in the air. “I have a question!” he pipes up. Superman looks around the room for an awkward second before pointing skeptically at Robin. “Who’s Faora?” Robin asks.

“You know,” Superman says, folding his arms and shrugging. “A girl.”

“An evil alien from the Phantom Zone who’s literally like five different people,” Batman translates. “I think one of them might have died at some point.”

“Also, again, not important,” Superman says, scowling. “Let’s go back to the part where you need me to save you.”

“I do not _need you to save me.”_

“Oh my gosh,” Barbara groans. “Just tell him so we can get on with it.”

“Or you could tell me,” Superman says, looking at Barbara. “That sounds like an easier plan.”

“Nope, he’s gotta do it.” Barbara folds her arms. “It’s a. Thing we’re working on. Just. Roll with it. Come on, Batman.”

Batman huffs a sigh. “Fine,” he spits at Barbara. “Superman. I.” He glares. “Need. Your help.”

Superman lands on the floor with a _tack,_ grinning.

“Well, well, well, my bro. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“I know,” Batman says. “Kinda weird that I’d ever need your help for anything.”

“No, no, I mean the fact that you’re admitting it,” Superman says. “You really have changed- I was hearing a few things from the grapevine, but I gotta say, I didn’t believe ‘em. But you know what? I’m proud of you, Bats.”

Batman bristles.

“Ask him,” Barbara grits through her teeth.

“I need,” he says, and shakes his head. “I want you to throw another party.”

Superman blinks. “Another… party?”

“With everyone in the Justice League,” Batman says, nodding.

“Uh,” Superman says. “Why?”

“Why’s not important,” Batman mutters. “Will you do it or not?”

“I’ve gotta be honest with you, bro,” Superman says. “We have a party at the Fortress of Solitude, like, every other weekened. And we _just_ had a get-together last week, so. I think doing another one so soon is gonna throw the whole thing off, you know?”

“Aww,” Robin moans. “But a party, though.”

“Maybe later, though?” Superman offers, in that smarmy voice that means he’s never actually going to think about it. He kicks off from the ground.

Batman’s mask widens for a fraction of a second, as if a shred of fear had just come short of showing through. “Supes- wait-”

“Yeah, Supes, come on,” Robin whines.

“I’m the only one who gets to call him that,” Batman says.

“Yeah,” Superman agrees. “It’s a little weird when you do it.”

“Superman,” Barbara chimes in. “You do realize you’re being a super- _jerk,_ right?”

“Look, I’m just a busy guy, all right?” Superman shrugs, hovering back up into the air and crossing his arms. “I don’t have time for parties.”

“You _just said_ you had parties all the time,” Barbara points out. “Why won’t you help Batman?”

“Uh, obviously because he knows he couldn’t make a party good enough for me,” Batman supplies. “Duh.”

“Dude. I would _crush_ you,” Superman says. “In terms of awesome-party-ing. I’d crush you. Into dust.”

“Sure you would.” Batman rolls his eyes.

“See that? That’s why,” Superman says, pointing at Batman. “Your attitude, bro.”

“I do not have _attitude.”_

“Yeah, you do. And it’s coming right at me. You know, actually- have you tried yoga?”

“Will both of you be _quiet?”_ Barbara snaps. And amazingly, Batman and Superman fall silent, looking at her. “You can go if you want,” she says, nodding at Superman. Batman opens his mouth, but she holds up a hand. “However. If my ears, and the ears of everyone else in this room- and the hundred million security feeds all over this mansion- were working in the last two minutes, we all heard you say you were going out to meet this… what was her name?”

Superman narrows his eyes. “Faora.”

“Right, Faora.” Barbara nods. “And according to Batman- and probably all of Gotham’s police records- she’s classified as a… Batman, what would you say? C-list villain?”

“B-list, at least,” Batman says, shrugging. “Why?”

Superman’s eyes flicker in the exact same way that Batman’s had, mere seconds ago. He sinks a little in the air, feet brushing the ground.

“Because I don’t think it would be all that good for Superman’s image if word got out that he was _fraternizing with the enemy.”_

Superman scowls. But he, Barbara, and Robin all miss the pointed look Alfred gives Batman. Batman glares back at him.

“Fraternizing?” Robin repeats blankly.

“Seeing her,” Batman says. “Being. With her. Having dinner together.” He shudders. “Gross.”

“Hey, now,” Superman says, holding out a placating hand. “You know it’s only the tabloids that care about that kind of stuff. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Robin frowns. “But. If she’s evil, then. Isn’t that…” He leans in close, holding a hand to his mouth so he can whisper. _“Bad?”_

Superman snorts. “Pshh. No way.” He rolls his eyes. “Fraternizing with the enemy is fine. It’s fraternizing with your own side that you’ve got to look out for- now, that can get you into trouble. And actually, sometimes fraternizing with the enemy solves a couple problems, so.” He shrugs.

“Oh!” Robin beams at Batman. “So you and Joker will be fine, then.”

Robin doesn’t seem to understand the crater he’s standing in, nor the smoke trailing off of him as the aftermath of the bomb rolls over the rest of the room in waves. He blinks, looking over at Batman, and then back to Superman.

“You and,” Superman says.

“Are you gonna do this party thing for me or not?” Batman says. His cowl burns over his face- it’s the cowl that’s burning up, definitely not his cheeks.

“Bro,” Superman whispers- and then his face spreads into the biggest grin Batman’s ever seen him make. _“Broooooooo.”_

“Literally,” Batman says. “Stop.”

* * *

There are several types of moping. Three, to be precise.

The first isn’t real moping. It’s just mostly-moping. It’s the moping that you do when all you really want is someone to push you back onto your feet and tell you how wonderful you are. (It should also be noted that mostly-moping becomes less and less effective over use.) It’s the type of moping that almost tugs at your heart, but only enough to get a sigh or two out.

The second isn’t real moping, either. It’s almost-moping, and it comes close enough that once mostly-moping has worn off, almost-moping will do the trick. Almost moping, upon first glance, looks just like real moping. It comes complete with sighs, moans, the occasional tear, and Looking Sadly Out Of Windows.

But it’s not real moping.

No. It’s not _real_ moping unless there’s-

_“If I could turn back time, if I could find a way…”_

Cher. 

“You’re sure we can’t kick him off the Spotify playlist?” Croc mutters to Crazy Quilt, where they’re tucked together at the end of the communal couch overlooking the room.

“You’re welcome to try,” Crazy Quilt mutters back.

“Fair enough,” Croc agrees.

_“I don’t know why I did the things I did…”_

“Geez, this is depressing to watch,” Ivy says, plopping onto the empty side of the couch and folding her arms. “I tried to get Tarantula and March Hare to get a game of foosball started, but they said they’d rather throw themselves off the roof.”

“Ouch,” Crazy Quilt says.

“It hurts,” Croc adds. “I would not recommend.”

“How long has he been like that?” Ivy asks, nodding to the middle of a room. In the biggest, fanciest chair, a green and purple pile of coattails sits sadly, shifting every so often to the beat of the music.

“Words are like weapons, they wound sometimes…”

“All day,” Croc groans.

“Harley’s been trying to get him to cheer up,” Crazy Quilt says, looking over at the chair. Ivy looks too, and sure enough, Harley rolls over as if on cue, draping herself over the back of the chair and saying something none of them can hear- no doubt would-be comforting words. The pile of coattails groans and rolls over in response, one arm flopping over the armrest.

“Oof,” Ivy mutters.

“This is the worst I’ve ever seen him,” Crazy Quilt agrees.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Ivy asks, shrugging. But even to her ears, the suggestion sounds half-hearted.

“We’ve already tried everything,” Croc says, sighing. “No dice.”

“Offered a bank heist?” Ivy prods.

“Twice,” Crazy Quilt says.

“Kidnapping the Mayor?”

Croc shakes his head. “He said it brought back bad memories.”

“Blowing up Town Hall. Blowing up anything. _Mario Kart.”_

_“If I could turn back time, if I could find a way…”_

“Well,” Crazy Quilt says slowly, “we haven’t tried Mario Kart. But he won’t let anyone else have the TV.”

“What’s he watching?”

Croc and Crazy Quilt look at each other with equally disparaging looks. “Old Batman reruns,” they say together.

Ivy frowns. “What?”

“News reports,” Crazy Quilt translates. “Back when Batman actually did interviews.”

“Oh, no,” Ivy groans.

“Oh, yes,” Crazy Quilt sighs.

_“And baby, baby, baby, you’d stay…”_

* * *

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

Batman squints at the sign. Superman nods proudly. “Of course it is,” he says.

“I just think it’s a little.” Batman frowns. “Obvious.”

“What? Pff. No.”

 _“Superheros-Only Party,”_ Batman reads. _“Absolutely no villains allowed. Especially Joker.”_ He frowns.

Superman looks at it for a minute. “You’re right,” he says. “Here, let me fix it.” He squints at the sign, aiming a red laser beam from his eyes carefully under the lettering. “There,” he says, blinking and looking back at it. “Perfect.”

 _“Definitely not Joker,”_ Batman reads. _“100% Joker-Free Zone.”_ He sighs. “I mean, it’s good.”

“It’s _really_ good.”

“But I just don’t know if the message is coming through too strong. Are you sure this is going to work?” Batman folds his arms.

“It will,” Superman says. “Trust me.” He yanks the sign off the ground and soars up to the top of the door. Without a rampant party blasting music out of the walls, the Fortress of Solitude is, well. Solitary. It’s quiet, save for the whip of wind over the mountains. It’s nice, actually. Maybe Batman should invest in an icy-mountain-cave sometime. “Anyway,” Superman says, “it always worked for Zod.”

“Worked for- what?” Batman splutters, dropping the little blueprint into the snow. Superman doesn’t appear to notice, as he welds the sign to the well-worn top of the door.

“What?” he calls down, over the wind. He gives the sign a tap, and it stays in place. Nodding to himself, he floats back down to the ground and dusts his hands off. “Sorry, Bats, didn’t hear you.”

“You and Zod,” Batman says. “You were…?”

“Uh, Greatest Enemies?” Superman snorts. “Bro, have you even _watched_ my interviews?”

“Greatest,” Batman echoes. “Enemies. Right. That’s.” He forces a smile. “That’s what I meant.”

“Bro, you all right?” Superman gives Batman a playful punch on the shoulder. It dents right down the middle. “Ha, sorry- like they say, I don’t know my own strength.” He laughs.

“Yep, I’m fine,” Batman grunts, tugging his arm back and holding it at his side. “Just. Peachy.”

“Do you need, like, sleep or something?” Superman frowns. “Sometimes I forget you people need sleep. You know how it is, when you’re a supernaturally overpowered alien.”

“Obviously I don’t,” Batman grumbles.

“Ha, that’s right,” Superman crows. “I forgot.”

* * *

They all consider it progress when Joker migrates from the overhead speakers to earbuds, leaving the TV and the speakers free for the rest of them again. He still sulks in his chair in front of everyone, but at least now they’ve got something to distract themselves from the Bottomless Pit of Despair.

The foosball and pinball tables fire up again, as does the TV.

Crazy Quilt celebrates this by beating Killer Croc seven times in a row to the finish line as Ivy and Tarantula watch on from the couch. Croc pouts so much that Crazy Quilt finally concedes and, on their eighth run, doesn’t use his red shell to knock Croc out and pass the finish line for himself in the last second.

“I did it!” Croc crows, as the title of _11 th Place _flashes over his half of the screen.

Crazy Quilt rolls over the finish line, scoring _12 th Place, _and ignoring the narrowed eyes Ivy shoots his way.

“Would you keep that down?” Joker’s broken voice croaks from the armchair. “Some of us are trying to stew in our own sorrows, over here.”

“Sorry, boss!” Croc calls, “but I won!”

Joker pops his head up from the chair, frowning at the TV. “You never win,” he says, one earbud out. “You’re literally the worst Mario Kart player I have ever seen.”

“Not my fault,” Croc grumbles. “You try playing with hands like these.”

“Lay off him, boss,” Crazy Quilt says. “We’re just having fun.”

“Well, have _quieter_ fun,” Joker mutters. “It’s a little hard to mope when everyone’s laughing it up over there.”

None of them decide to comment on the strange irony of this, which is probably a wise decision.

“Volume,” Joker says into the little vacuum of silence. “Down.” And then, after a beat. “Please.”

“Yes, Boss,” Crazy Quilt says, and reaches for the remote.

But Croc is faster. “I’ll do it,” he says hastily, mashing his claws over the buttons. The TV instantly flicks off, and the crowd on the couch groans. “Sorry-” Croc stammers, hurriedly punching the buttons without looking. “Sorry, hold on-”

The TV flicks on- not to the Mario Kart screen, but to the local newscaster.

 _“And in further news today,”_ she says, looking down at her notes, _“Metropolis’s very own Superman seems to have his eye on a certain someone from Gotham, if our news cameras are picking this up correctly.”_

“Oh, no,” Ivy whispers.

Joker gives a _howl,_ flopping over onto his stomach and burying his face into the armrest.

“Of _course,”_ he cries, as Ivy and Crazy Quilt frown accusingly at Croc. “Of _course_ he’d go for Superman. Why wouldn’t he? Superman’s _perfect.”_ He sucks in a breath and turns back over, staring at the ceiling. “Why did I ever think I had a chance?”

_“The caped crusader was seen last night planning what looks like a superhero party for the Justice League ‘and friends’, with a completely not-suspicious-at-all warning sign. Let’s go to news camera two.”_

“Turn it off, turn it off,” Ivy hisses.

“I’m _trying,”_ Croc hisses back.

“Give me the remote,” Ivy snaps. “I’ll do it-”

“I can do it just fine, let me-”

_“Thanks, Deborah- now as you can see, the sign here clearly depicts that no villains will he allowed- particularly, as noted here, Gotham’s Clown Prince of Crime.”_

Everyone freezes.

From the armchair, Joker stops blubbering and goes stock still, staring at the screen.

 _“Why these superheroes thought it was necessary to single the Joker out,”_ the newscaster continues, _“we have no idea. But rest assured, it’s probably not important.”_

Croc pinches the remote and the screen goes black. Everyone still in the room stares at Joker. Behind him, Harley skates over and touches the back of the armchair.

“See,” Harley says nervously, “they were talking about you when they mentioned Gotham. Not-”

“Not with the name, not with the _name,”_ Crazy Quilt hisses from the couch.

“Batman’s probably not even going to be there,” Harley says, running him over. At Batman’s name, Joker gives an almighty groan, trying to bury himself back into the armrest. “They never invite him, anyway.”

“That’s true,” Ivy adds. “And, you know. There’s going to be lots of heroes there.”

“Lots of _other_ heroes,” Harley agrees, catching on to Ivy’s train of thought. Ivy winks.

“Like the Flash. He’s cool, right?” Ivy shrugs, standing off the couch and heading over.

“Very cool,” Harley agrees. “And I bet he’d be honored if you went over and- and-” She punches her fist. “Socked him a new one.”

“Or Aquaman,” Crazy Quilt suggests, standing up too and joining Ivy. “Aquaman’s pretty cool.”

“And he doesn’t have an arch-enemy right now,” Ivy agrees. “He could be looking for someone new to fight. Oh- or what about the green one? Is he cool?”

“No,” Crazy Quilt, Harley, and Joker all chorus.

Joker sighs. “I appreciate the help,” he says. “But… I don’t know. I just don’t think I’m ready to start fighting other people yet.”

“You don’t have to be arch-enemies,” Harley points out. “You could just try having a couple fights, see where it goes.”

“It would take your mind off of,” Ivy starts, and then clears her throat.

“That’s all it has to be,” Harley says, nodding. “Just a couple quick fights, you know? No pressure.”

Joker worries his lip.

“You don’t even have to find anyone to fight,” Crazy Quilt says gently. “But you’re certainly not helping yourself by staying cooped up like this.”

“Oh,” Joker says. “Oh, all _right.”_

And he shoves himself out of the chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOD fuck this chapter so much  
> the next part wont take as long hopefully <3 it should be the last one so stay tuned
> 
> today's rec is [Gayforbatjokes!](http://gayforbatjokes.tumblr.com) they make cute Lego batjokes comics and tbqh I am in love  
> anyway go check them out their art is Mad Rad


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Mordred](https://uk.pinterest.com/mordredLjones/art-by-mordred-llewelyn-jones/) for the lovely art for this fic, which you can find [HERE!](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/44/4a/68/444a68d2712ee788376a5ec932f8a369.jpg)  
> Credit to [Theta-Waves](http://theta-waves.tumblr.com) For some of Batman's later lines (the best ones lmao), which I borrowed from our RP! xoxo  
> And I borrowed a little bit of the plot of one of [Gayforbatjokes's](http://gayforbatjokes.tumblr.com) comics- again go check them out they are 10/10 fab

He’s only going to this thing because Harley wants him to. Because he might meet someone there who catches his eye. Because maybe, just maybe, someone else will land the first punch for once.

He’s _not_ going because there’s a chance Batman might be there.

Absolutely not.

Superman’s going to have to move his Fortress of Solitude after this, Joker muses. Advertising to the whole world about his famous little party, with all his famous little friends.

That’s really it, Joker thinks, that’s why superheroes are the _worst._ Because villains do just as much work, if not more than heroes. Villains spend hours, days, _months_ thinking of plans and constructing Evil Weapons, getting doomsday licenses (which are an absolute nightmare to obtain over here in Gotham, but surprisingly easy over in Metropolis), gathering minions- and all a hero has to do is come over and mess it all up. And who gets the credit? Who gets their name hailed to the skies?

Heroes, that’s who. And they _love_ it.

Well, most of them.

That’s why Batman’s different.

Enough- _enough_ about Batman, he’s _not thinking about Batman._

Geez. What is it gonna take for people to just _get_ that, already?

“I mean, are you sure?”

_“Yes, I’m sure!”_

“All right, all right, we’re just asking.” Ivy rolls her eyes.

“Because if you tell us you’re not doing this for Batman,” Harley adds- Joker stiffens at the name- “and it turns out you are…”

“What are you going to do?” Joker snarks, folding his arms. Ivy sighs, fed up at last, and just turns the steering wheel so they slide back into the right lane. “You can’t fire me. I’m your _boss._ I’ll fire _you.”_

“We’ll go on Strike,” Harley says firmly. Ivy shoots her a look, over to where she’s sat in the passenger seat. Behind them, Joker puts his feet up on Ivy’s chair.

“Oh, please,” he says.

“We will,” Harley warns. “Where are you going to find another set of underlings like us?”

“Uh, the Phantom Zone?” Joker shrugs. “Duh.”

“With what Phantom Zone projector?” Harley points out. “The last one destroyed itself. Or. Something.”

“Yeah, that was kind of unclear,” Joker muses. “Seriously though, guys. I’m not going for Batman.”

“Or Bruce Wayne,” Ivy pipes up. Joker’s feet slide off the back of her chair as Joker scrambles to sit up.

“Bruce Wayne’s going to be there?” he hisses. “What? Why? How do you know?”

Ivy gives Harley another look, and Harley sighs.

“He’s not, Boo-boo,” she says. “That was just. An example.”

Joker huffs, crossing his arms. “Well,” he says. “Fine.”

“So promise us right now,” Harley says, twisting over her shoulder to fix him with a glare. She’s not really the best with glares, but they usually work on Joker. Maybe he just has really low glare-tolerance. “That you’re not going to this thing for Batman. At _all.”_

Joker sighs, staring grumpily out of the window. “I promise,” he says.

“And promise us that if you do see Batman,” Harley adds, “you won’t even talk to him.”

“Wh- hold on a minute, that’s not fair!”

“It’s completely fair,” Harley huffs. “Promise me, Boo-Boo. Or we’ll turn this car around.”

“This is _my car.”_

“Boo-Boo!” Harley glares now, really glares. Joker tries to glare back, but breaks after about three seconds. He sinks back down in his seat, folding his arms and propping his legs back up on Ivy’s seat.

“Fine,” he mutters. “I promise.”

* * *

Darn it all.

He’s _absolutely_ going for Batman.

It’s a Justice League party, hello, Batman has to be here. And yes, it’s common knowledge that Batman’s a loner type, he doesn’t really do parties. But it’s also common knowledge that Batman absolutely adores being an idol. And if Superman advertises his party on TV, that means that Batman’s going to be there to pick up some of the press.

And the sign. The _sign._ That has to mean something. It’s like he’s gift wrapping himself, and Joker’s name is the little bow on top. It’s subtle, which is nice. Batman does subtle _really_ well. It’s one of the many admirable qualities he has.

Heroes are stupid. But Batman’s. Different. Oh em goodness, enough about Batman-

Actually, no. _No._ There can never be _enough about Batman._ If Joker’s going to do this, he has to let go of the lies and he has to accept the truth he’s known all along. It’s always been about Batman, hasn’t it?

And if this is Batman’s way of trying to reach out to him, then he’ll dang himself to _heck_ for the rest of his life if he doesn’t take the opportunity now.

Giving one last look at the sign over the door, Joker steels himself and knocks.

It only takes a split second before someone wrenches the door open with unbelievable force. Superman- _ugh, Superman-_ beams at him from behind the door.

“Joker,” he says loudly, holding the door open. “What on earth are you doing here? We didn’t invite you _at all._ ”

Joker sighs. “That’s the spirit,” he mutters. “Look, I don’t want to waste my time, could you just tell me-”

But before he can finish, Superman soars up and around him. “No talk,” he says, pushing Joker forward until he’s stumbling through the door. “It’s _party time.”_

“-where Batman is,” Joker trails off, as Superman slams the door shut and soars back into the crowd within a split second. Joker stares at the crowd of heroes all dancing together under a steady bass beat. At the back of the room, a dog inexplicably wearing a cape nods in time to the music, keeping a paw on what looks like a set of records. Above him hangs a cloth sign, reading _57 th Annual Justice League Anniversary Party.’ _Squished next to the ‘57th’ are the words _‘and a third’,_ in what looks like hastily scribbled red pen.

“Oh, hey, Joker,” someone says, and a red blur materializes less than a hand’s width away from Joker’s front. Joker trips over his coattails as he stumbles backwards, arms pinwheeling to keep balance. “What a surprise, seeing you here.” And with that, he gives an oversized wink and dashes away. Joker brushes off his coat, scowling into the crowd.

Yeah. Superheroes are the _worst._

* * *

“What the heck are you _doing?_ Get back out there-”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Babs, you’re not my butler.”

Barbara frowns. “Doesn’t that saying go-”

Alfred grabs her shoulder and yanks, stopping her short. “I would advise against that, Master Barbara.” He turns to Batman, who ignores him in favor of his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. Beside Alfred, Robin hugs Barbara’s cape, watching Batman cautiously. With all of them in costume, it’s a little harder to squeeze into the bathroom together, but they manage.

“Batman,” Barbara groans. “You can’t just camp out in Superman’s bathroom the whole time.”

“Watch me,” Batman says.

“Batman.”

“No.”

_“Batman.”_

Batman gives a groan and yanks the cowl off his face, hurling it away from himself. It clatters to the floor at Barbara and Alfred’s feet. Barbara, Alfred, and Robin all look at it silently, then look up at him. Batman grabs the edge of the bathroom sink, staring into the drain.

“I can’t do this,” Batman says, shaking his head.

“Yes, you can,” Barbara says.

“No, I _can’t.”_ Batman tugs as his suit, wrenching the thing off. Barbara blanches and hurries to cover Robin’s eyes before Batman can yank the bottom half of his costume off as well.

“Batman, be reasonable,” she tries, but Batman doesn’t listen.

“I was afraid this might happen,” Alfred sighs, and fishes around under his suit jacket. A pile of neatly folded clothes seems to materialize out of nowhere, and he hands them to Batman.

“You brought him a _suit?”_ Barbara gapes, as Batman tugs the freshly pressed suit over his head. White tuxes seem to be his specialty.

“Okay,” Barbara says. “Okay, this is weird.”

“I always come prepared,” Alfred says smugly. “And I brought a selection of clothes for you as well, Master Barbara-”

“I’m fine!” she says, taking a step back. “Yep- no, I’m absolutely fine.”

Batman drags back their attention as he punches the leftmost sink off the wall, glaring at it.

“Batman!” Barbara barks. “What are you doing?”

“Punching a sink,” Batman says. “Duh.” He stares hard at the wreckage on the floor. “I’m going home.”

“What- no!” Barbara shakes her head. “No, you are not going home.”

“Master Bruce,” Alfred begins.

“No, I’m going home,” Batman mutters. “This was a waste of time. He… doesn’t want to see me. He probably didn’t even come. This was. A stupid idea.”

“But,” Robin says. “It was your idea. And all your ideas are good, Padre.”

“That’s debatable,” Barbara mutters through her teeth. Robin and Batman don’t appear to hear her.

“Then- it’s- just.” Batman stutters. “Not a fantastic idea. It’s-”

But exactly what _it_ is, they never find out. Because at that exact moment, the bathroom door slams open and a man dressed in a sharp purple suit strides through.

Before he takes even a step inside, Alfred shoves Barbara and Robin into the nearest stall and closes the door behind them. Batman’s feet slip on the bathroom floor and he skids backwards, landing on the tile with a _clack._

“Oh, my goodness,” Joker says, looking around at the bathroom. “I’m _so_ sorry, can I help you-”

And he meets Batman’s eyes.

For a moment, neither of them speak. Joker’s eyes flick up and down Batman’s suit, taking in the cufflinks, the pants, the neat tie around his neck, and the curl of hair framing his eyes. Batman blinks, wondering how best to not look guilty.

“That was like that when I got here,” he says, looking at the remnants of the sink gurgling on the wall.

Joker says nothing, still looking at him. Batman clears his throat.

“Uh,” he says. “I’m actually just on my way out, so. Uh.”

“Brucie. Did you come here with anyone?” Joker asks suddenly, looking skeptically around the decimated bathroom.

“No,” Batman says instantly. “Just me. Just good ol’ Bruce Wayne. It’s just.” He clears his throat. “Me.”

And Joker smiles. It’s not the smile Batman remembers, lit by morning sunlight. It’s not the smile Batman remembers, lit by the ghost of the Phantom Zone. It’s the smile that Batman sees on posters around Gotham, the smile that Joker reserves for those he intends to terrify.

“Good,” he says. “Then no one will come looking for you.”

* * *

He ties Bruce Wayne up in Superman’s basement, which is stupidly easy to find and even more stupidly easy to break into. Honestly, it’s like he’d left it open on purpose, just asking for someone to break in.

Bruce Wayne doesn’t fight- though that’s probably because Joker’s shot him with a couple doses of Scarecrow’s toxin experiments. They’re delightfully convenient, really. Bruce Wayne goes limp the moment Joker sprays a puff of gas in his face, and falls right into Joker’s arms.

Joker watches him wake up minute by minute. Bruce Wayne blinks sluggishly, arms tugging lightly where they’re held, bound to a chair. And okay, it’s not the most imaginative way to tie someone up, but it’s a classic for a reason.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Joker coos, as Bruce Wayne’s head lolls to the side.

“What,” Bruce Wayne mumbles. “Where.”

“Superman was nice enough to lend me this room,” Joker hums, standing up and pacing back and forth in front of the chair.

“Superman,” Bruce Wayne echoes, and then his eyes widen. He sits up, arms tugging. He looks down, realizing they’re bound, and then glances around the room. “You- let me go,” he says, shaking his head.

“Oh, don’t worry. I don’t have the _slightest_ intentions of keeping you for long, Brucie.” Joker laughs. “No, no, you’ll be fine.”

“No, let me go,” Bruce Wayne demands. “You don’t understand.”

“You’ll go free,” Joker says, “when Batman sets you free.”

And he circles back around to the empty chair and sits, waiting.

* * *

The second he hears the bathroom door shut, Alfred releases his hold on Robin. Robin springs forward, catapulting himself over the stall door.

“Padre!” he shouts. _“Padre!”_

Barbara grabs him before he can reach the outside door, and he tugs and tugs but she holds him back.

“Calm down,” she says, shaking her head.

“I gotta- we gotta go,” Robin insists. “He’s in trouble, we hafta-”

“Master Bruce will be fine,” Alfred says calmly, pushing the stall door closed behind him. “I assure you.”

“We’re at a party full of superheroes,” Barbara reminds Robin, who bites his lip in worry all the same. “I think we can handle this. Heck, even just Superman could probably-”

“You rang?”

The three of them slip together on the bathroom floor as Superman _appears_ inside the doorway. He frowns. “Uh,” he says. “What… are you all doing in my bathroom? And what did you do to my sink?”

“Batman did it!” Robin says instantly. And then he sucks in a breath. “Superman! Batman’s in trouble!”

“Oh, good,” Superman says, grinning. “Does that mean it worked?”

“No, you don’t understand,” Barbara says. “He’s actually in trouble.”

“So it’s serious?” Superman asks. “That’s _fantastic.”_

“Not that kind of serious- oh, for heaven’s sake.” Barbara rolls her eyes. “Don’t you have your x-ray vision, or whatever? Can’t you just find him?”

“Uh,” Superman says. “I mean, I could. But I’m not sure I want to see-”

 _“Do it,”_ Barbara says.

“All right, all right,” Superman says, kicking off the ground and hovering. He squints, taking a quick glance around the room. And then he stares at the floor for a split second. _“Yeah,_ all right,” he says, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. “I was right. I really didn’t want to see that.” He shudders.

“What?” Robin asks, terrified. “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

“Look, he’s just in the basement,” Superman says, awkwardly inching backwards out of the bathroom. “I- I mean, I don’t think you want to interrupt them, but-”

Barbara, Alfred and Robin shove past him before he can get out another word, sprinting down the hallway and out to the main room.

“You’re _welcome,”_ he shouts after them.

* * *

“Joker,” he tries again. “Joker, please.”

“Would you quit your whining?” Joker says, rolling his eyes. “You’re gonna be fine, like I told you- you just have to wait for Batman to get here.”

And what the heck is he supposed to say to that?

_“Padre?”_

Batman sits up straight as Joker turns towards the door. Batman’s heart sinks as footsteps thunder closer and closer.

“Oh, what now,” Joker mutters. “For heaven’s sake, this is a simple operation.”

Robin tumbles through the door face first, somersaulting onto the ground. Barbara and Alfred follow in turn, full-in-costume and ready to fight. Barbara holds up a yellow batarang warningly.

“All right, Joker,” Barbara growls. “Hand him over and no one has to get hurt.”

“What- no, this is all wrong,” Joker says, pointing between the three of them. “You’re the wrong Batman. Both of you are.”

Barbara gives Batman a look, which he returns with a _what-can-you-do_ shrug.

“Batman?” she repeats, looking back at Joker.

 _“Yes, Batman, who else would I be talking about?”_ Joker thunders, waving his arms about. “You know what, I don’t have time for this. Batman’s just gonna have to save you, too.”

“I beg your pardon,” Alfred tries, but before he can finish, Joker reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out three more convenient little vials, throwing them without a second thought. Barbara holds up her cape in a last-minute attempt to shield Robin, but it’s too late. The vials explode the second they hit the ground, and Scarecrow’s toxin does its work.

Joker holds his sleeve up to his face, avoiding the blast, but Batman has no such luxury. The toxin swirls over to where he’s sat, tied to the chair. The last thing he sees before his vision goes black again is Robin toppling over backwards, arms limp at his sides.

* * *

He ties the three of them up and tapes them to the wall, because having four people to worry about at once is an absolute _nightmare._ He leaves Bruce Wayne where he is, though.

All right, maybe he still has a soft spot for the guy. But he’d still been working for Batman the whole time, so.

It’s actually a little sweet, come to think about it. Batman had cared enough to make Bruce Wayne go through all of that, hadn’t he? A little flicker of hope flutters in his chest- Batman just might hate him after all.

Bruce Wayne wakes up first, which makes sense as he’d had the lowest dose.

“Joker,” he says, the second he gets his bearings. “Joker, let them go-”

“I will let them go when Batman comes to save them,” Joker says firmly, crossing his arms and striding to Bruce Wayne, looking him dead in the eye.

Bruce Wayne bites his lip, like he’s trying to make some sort of decision. And then he sighs. “Batman’s not coming.”

Joker snorts. “Of course he is.”

“No,” Bruce Wayne says. “He’s not.”

And he sounds so… sure of himself that Joker takes a step back, looking at him. Bruce Wayne looks back with hard eyes. They’re the same eyes he’d given that day in the bunker. But they’re different, now. He’s…

Sad?

“Of course,” Joker tries to say. “Of course he is. Why wouldn’t he come?” He takes a step back, bringing an arm to his chest.

“Joker,” Bruce Wayne says.

“That’s what this was about, wasn’t it?” Joker says, shaking his head. “With- with the sign, and the. Justice League, and. And _everything._ This was supposed to be about _us.”_

“Joker,” Bruce Wayne says.

“He _has_ to come,” Joker says. “That’s how this is supposed to go. That’s how it works. That’s how it’s always been.”

And he sits down in his chair, coattails drooping on either side. Bruce Wayne is watching him, but he doesn’t care.

“I thought this was gonna fix things,” he says, more to the floor than to anyone else. “He was gonna just. Swoop in here, like he always does with his big stupid cape and his big stupid cowel…” He gives a little smile. “And he’d come in and tell me to let you all go, and I’d tell him no, and. We’d fight, and.”

“Joker.”

He sniffles. “And then I’d say- I’d say something clever, and he’d say something clever back, and-” Joker shakes his head. “And that’s how it’s supposed to go, that’s how _we’re_ supposed to go.”

“Listen,” Bruce Wayne says, and there’s something in his voice that makes Joker’s heart stop completely. It’s something familiar, something he can’t quite place. “Let me tell you something, J-Bird.”

Joker shoots him a hurt look. “I told you not to call me-”

“Batman,” Bruce Wayne says. “Batman… doesn’t do Ships.”

The room spins.

Joker tears his eyes off the floor and stares at Bruce Wayne. “What did you say?”

“Ships,” Bruce Wayne repeats. “As in. Relationships.”

Joker’s breath catches in his throat.

“There is,” Bruce Wayne says thickly, “no ‘Us’. Batman and Joker are- are not a _thing.”_

Bruce Wayne sags against the ropes tying him to the chair, until he’s looking at his feet, speaking directly to the ground. His voice flits between steady and cracked, normal and gruff. It’s like the words have to fight their way out of his throat to be heard, as if every other part of him is trying to hold them back.

“He doesn’t- _need_ you,” Bruce Wayne says, shaking his head. “He doesn’t need. Anyone.”

Joker stands up, takes a step forward.

“You mean nothing to him,” Bruce Wayne says, and his voice catches on the last word. He bites his lip, steeling himself, and then- “No one does.”

The basement is silent. Bruce Wayne gives a little shudder under his ropes, and Joker blinks in surprise to see… _tears?_

“Batman,” he says, slowly.

Bruce Wayne takes in a sharp breath that might be considered a sniff. He sits up, blinking back what absolutely cannot be tears from his eyes. “Yeah,” he says.

“I don’t… believe it,” Joker breathes. “Batman-”

“Yeah, it’s-”

“-said the _exact same thing to me!”_

Bruce Wayne blinks, tears freezing in place. “What,” he says.

“I don’t believe this,” Joker mutters, holding himself by the waist and pacing still faster. “I don’t _believe_ this. Everything I do- _everything_ I do is for him. Do you know how that feels? To devote every part of yourself to someone and hear _that?”_

“Joker,” Bruce Wayne says, voice the lowest Joker’s ever heard it. But he doesn’t get to finish, because someone shifts on the wall. The others must be awake, now.

“Oooh, my head…”

“Shut _up!”_ Joker roars at the wall, where Bat-Girl, Robin, and the Old Weird Batman are tied up, all sluggishly regaining consciousness. Robin’s eyes are closed and he’s wincing. Bat-Girl looks at him worriedly.

“Robin,” she says. “Take a deep breath, all right? You’re okay.”

Robin gasps, looking around the room. And then he sees Bruce Wayne, tied up and tearful. “Padre!” he cries, wriggling furiously. “Padre, hold on! We’ll save you!”

“Padre,” Joker repeats. “But you’re Batman’s kid, aren’t you?”

“We share custody,” Bruce Wayne says quickly.

“You and Batman,” Joker says. “Share custody.”

“Oh no,” Bat-Girl mutters.

“Uh, yeah.” Bruce Wayne shrugs. “Why?”

“You never told me you two were…” Joker trails off. “But. Why didn’t you tell me? You led me on!”

“What do you mean, ‘led you on’?” Bruce Wayne frowns. “What, so he and I are ‘together’, so what? You got a problem with that? It’s not like I’m fighting him or anything.”

“That’s not the point- first of all- you’ve been leading me on, which is already horrible, but you’ve also been cheating on him!”

“What- cheating?” he splutters. “I haven’t been cheating on anyone- I haven’t been _seeing_ anyone.”

“You’ve been _seeing me!”_ Joker cries.

They all wait for the words to die down, until the blanket of silence drops over them all like a weight.

“Wait, so.”

Joker frowns down at him.

“When you said ‘relationship’, you meant.”

“An actual relationship,” Joker supplies. “What did you think I meant?”

Batman shrugs. “Well, you know. Superman and Zod are greatest enemies, but they’re not. _You know.”_

“Well, yeah. Because Zod is a crazy evil alien from space who tried to enslave all of humanity?” Joker rolls his eyes. “I’m not evil.”

“Yeah, you are.” Batman frowns. “You’re totally evil. You’re Gotham’s Clown Prince of _Crime._ What part of that doesn’t sound evil to you?”

“Well, sure. But I’m not _Evil_.” Joker shrugs. “Since when have I ever actually hurt anyone?”

“You hurt me,” Batman says.

Joker scoffs. “Oh, please. We fight each other, you’re the exception.”

“Emotionally.”

“You hurt me emotionally first.”

“Yeah, well. You’re.” Batman flounders. “Dumb.”

“I’ve said the word ‘relationship’, like, a hundred times,” Joker says. _“You_ even said it.”

“I thought it was a metaphor!”

“Not everything has to be a metaphor-”

“Well, it really felt like a metaphor-”

“Batman, I swear to gosh-”

“Don’t you dare use that kind of language in front of my son-”

“Don’t bring your son in front of my language-”

“That doesn’t even make sense-”

“It makes complete sense-”

“I hate you-”

“I hate you more-”

“You see what I mean now? It’s obviously just a metaphor.” Batman shrugs. “People aren’t in relationships because they hate each other. That would be stupid.”

“Not as stupid as you are,” Joker fires back. “Is that why you’re with Bruce Wayne, then, can he put up with your stupid-”

And then his brain catches up with his mouth.

At the exact moment that Robin wriggles free of his ropes and somersaults across the floor triumphantly.

“Dads!” he says, picking up one of Barbara’s fallen batarangs. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of there.”

Joker doesn’t even try to stop the kid as he hurries over and slices through Bruce Wayne’s- through _Batman’s_ ropes, cutting him free.

“Good work, kiddo,” Batman says, giving Robin a nod. “Go get the others free, would you?”

“Yes, Dads,” Robin chirps. He takes the batarang back and sets to work on the wall. Bat-Girl and the Old Weird Batman both brush off their ropes as soon as they’re cut, giving equal sighs of relief.

“Sir,” the Old Weird Batman says nervously, as Bat-Girl picks up the other batarang off the floor. “Do you want your…?”

Batman holds a hand out wordlessly. Old Weird Batman rummages under his costume and brings out the cowl, slightly scratched in places, worn down in others. Batman takes it and tugs it over his head, and then it’s _Batman_ looking at him, really Batman.

It was always really Batman, though. Wasn’t it?

“To be fair,” Batman says, “you gave Bruce Wayne flowers first. So, technically speaking.” He clears his throat. “This is your fault.”

“That’s why you didn’t come back,” Joker says weakly. “At the theater.”

Batman nods.

“And that’s why you _did_ come back,” Joker realizes. “Because. Batman couldn’t.”

“It’s kind of,” Batman says. “Unnecessarily complicated.”

“Yeah, well.” Joker tries for a smile. “The best plans always are, aren’t they?”

And Batman smiles back.

“Joker,” he says. “I-”

“Hate me?” Joker finishes for him, winking. “Yeah. I know. I hate you too, Batsy-”

“Love you.”

Several things happen at once.

Joker’s knees abruptly stop working, and the ground starts coming toward him before he can realize it-

Weird Batman, Bat-Girl, and Robin all suck in identical breaths, but in entirely different ways. Robin brings his hands to his face as his eyes widen so much that it’s impossible to tell if he’s looking straight ahead through his glasses or not. Bat-Girl drops her batarang, gaping open-mouthed. Old Weird Batman lets his breath out before the others have finished taking theirs, with a satisfied smile-

And an almighty _OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH_ echoes from the ceiling, breaking the blanket of silence from up above that none of them had noticed. Another split second, and the music turns back on, twice as loud. The ceiling starts to tremor with the weight of everyone dancing, and the bass _thuds_ through the floors, making the entire room seem to pulse in time with the music.

Two hands catch Joker around the middle before he can land on the floor. 

"Should have figured he’d be listening,” Batman grumbles, arms around Joker’s waist. Joker squints, and if he tries hard enough he can just make out a tinge of pink beside the black.

“I hate Superman,” he grumbles back.

Batman snorts, and the pink turns to red. “Don’t make me say it again,” he hums. “You made me say it once.”

“I didn’t _make_ you say anything.”

“What, was I just supposed to not?”

“I’m not complaining-”

“Sir, to paraphrase you on so many occasions,” says Old Weird Batman. He clears his throat. _“Gross.”_

“You don’t like it, you can leave,” Batman says, shrugging. He doesn’t make a move to take his arms away from where they’re wrapped around Joker’s waist- on the contrary, he tightens his hold ever so slightly. Joker’s heart skips a beat.

“Leaving,” Bat-Girl says, hastily picking up her batarang. “Yes. We’re leaving- Robin, come on.” She and -Old Weird Batman turn to leave.

But Robin’s frozen in place, staring straight ahead. “Does this mean,” he whispers. “Does this mean I get _another dad?”_

“Uh,” Batman says.

“We’ll see,” Joker says, and winks. Robin _squeals,_ and that’s Bat-Girl’s cue to grab him by the cape and forcibly tug him to the doorway.

“Seriously?” Batman looks at Joker, skeptically.

“Well.” Joker shrugs. “He’s got, what. One, two, three parents already? I could just do part-time.”

 _“Green Dad!”_ Robin calls, and then Barbara yanks him through the door and slams it shut.

“He’s sweet,” Joker hums, reaching up towards one of Batman’s bat-ears.

“He’s,” Batman says. “A good. Kid.”

“He sure is.” Joker grabs the other bat-ear, looking between them both.

“What are you doing,” Batman says. “I mean. My costume is pretty great, but-”

 _“Just do it!”_ a muffled voice from the ceiling yells.

Batman gives the ceiling a very meaningful glare, Joker’s hands still clamped around his ears. He sighs. “Look,” he says, turning back down. “Maybe we should-”

Joker yanks down on the mask and then the edges brush over his face, white makeup smearing all over the thing, and then there’s nothing else between them anymore.

* * *

“Kid. Kid. Hey, kid.”

“Green Dad!”

“Come here. I’m gonna teach you how to hot-wire a car.”

“Cool!”

“No, you’re not. Robin, go back to Mario Kart.”

“Aw, come on, Batsy- I’m preparing him for the real world- this is practical advice.”

“Yeah, Dads- uh, Bat-Dad. I could drive _any car I wanted.”_

“Robin, that’s called stealing.”

“Oh.”

“Green-Dad tip number one, kid. It’s not stealing if you’re gonna give it back.”

_“Yes, it is.”_

* * *

“I still hate these. Why can’t Bruce Wayne just be sick, sometimes? Why does he even have to _go_ to a charity gala? Can’t he just donate, like, a million dollars and not go?”

“It’s good for your public image, Batman. Besides, these things can be fun.”

“You and I have different definitions of the word ‘fun’.”

“Whatever you say. But if I have to come here because I’m the police commissioner, then you have to come because you’re the resident billionaire.”

“Ugh. _Fine.”_

“Wait. Turn towards me.”

“What-”

“Your tie.”

_“What about my tie.”_

“It looks. Familiar.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Hey- no, turn back-”

“It’s just one of my ties. There’s nothing wrong with it. I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with it, maybe you should go tie shopping if you’re so interested in ties.”

“Batman.”

_“What.”_

“…You’re on in ten minutes. Better get ready.”

* * *

“Robin, we’ve been over this before. Don’t ever _actually_ do anything Joker teaches you.”

“Okay, Padre!”

* * *

“Don’t listen to Batman, I’m a very good role model.”

“Okay, Green Dad!”

“You ready to rock and roll?”

“Well, I mean. I should probably ask permission first-”

“Yeah, yeah- I go the go-ahead from Batsy for this, he’s _totally cool_ with it.”

“Oh, okay! Cool!”

* * *

“Okay. Robin. Superhero lesson number… what are we on, now, 76?”

“75.”

“Right. Superhero lesson number 75. You _don’t trust Joker when he says I’m cool with something.”_

“But he always looks so- so. He does this thing with his eyes? And his face?”

“The _face._ Never trust the face, Robin.”

“Is that rule 76?”

“Yes. Write that down. And take out all those notes about, what is that, a recipe for Nitroglycerin?”

“Green Dad said it might be important to know!”

“Why would you _ever need to know that.”_

“If I need to blow something up to save the day!”

“That literally never happens.”

“But, Batdad-”

“Rule number 77. _Don’t make bombs.”_

* * *

“Repeat after me, kid. _C4? But wait, there’s more.”_

“See-four, but wait, there’s more!”

“Fantastic, that’s perfect. Now this one: _Look, there’s a car! Cross the wires to make it go far.”_

“Ooh, just like hotwiring?”

“Exactly like hotwiring. You’re doing great, kid.”

“Thanks, Green Dad.”

* * *

“You sure you’re ready to go out on a big-boy mission with us?”

“Yeah, Padre! I’ve got a backup grappling hook and everything!”

“Huh. Nice. Okay, what’s the rule?”

“No… making bombs?”

“No, the- I mean, yes, that’s a rule. But what’s rule number one?”

“Listen to Batman.”

“Yes. Rule number two?”

“Um…”

“It’s the one with the rhyme. _We see a bomb blow and we say…?”_

“Let’s go!”

_“No.”_

* * *

“Barbara, I need your help.”

“This wouldn’t have to do with Robin somehow stealing my car and driving it over to Blüdhaven, would it?"

“…”

“I’ll start making a powerpoint presentation.”

* * *

“Okay, Robin. There are four main points here.”

“Miss Barbara!”

“Yes, Robin?”

“Should I write this down? Is there going to be a test?”

“Yes. No- no test, but. Yes, write these down. Okay. Four points- always listen to Barbara and Alfred. Mostly listen to Batman. Never listen to Joker. And _never make bombs.”_

“Hey- no, that’s not true. _Always listen to Batman_. That is superhero rule number one. That is _literally rule number one.”_

“Batman- you didn’t make this presentation, you don’t get to teach. Actually, you should write this down too.”

“Batman! We can be school buddies!”

“Absolutely not. Hard pass.”

* * *

“Robin- Robin, what the _heck_ did I tell you, we _don’t make bombs._ This is why!”

“Less talking, more running!”

Barbara hurls a batarang at the window and it shatters just in time for the three of them to tumble through. Barbara curls her arms around Robin, draping her cape over him to shield him from the soot-thick ash and the white-hot sparks.

They soar down to the ground and roll to their feet. Robin coughs weakly, falling back down onto his knees. Barbara kneels down beside him instantly, checking over his face.

“Lie down,” she instructs. “The smoke’s going to rise. Stay on the ground and try not to inhale any more smoke, okay?”

“Okay,” Robin says, coughing again.

“We got everyone out?” Barbara calls, looking up at the wreckage. The haphazard group of about a dozen supervillains choruses a yes, as Batman goes down the list and counts them. Barbara sags in relief, turning back to Robin and covering his head with her cape again.

“Fourteen, fifteen, six-” Batman stops short, pointing down the line of villains. Ivy and Harley are sat together, watching the warehouse as it burns. Crazy Quilt lies unconscious in Killer Croc’s arms. Tarantula, Mime, and March Hare are all there, so who’s-

No.

“Batman?” Barbara looks up as Batman darts back towards the burning building. “Batman- don’t! You don’t have time, the building’s going to collapse any second-”

“Dads?” Robin calls, poking out from under Barbara’s cape. “Dads! _Padre!”_

“Robin, no!” Barbara holds Robin back before he can jump after Batman, who grapples his way through the broken window once more.

The air inside the building is too thick to breathe, but it makes its way into Batman’s lungs all the same. He closes his mouth and tries to breathe through the mask, as if the cowl will have any insulation at all. Looking around, he doesn’t see anything promising. The walls are blackening and crumbling, bricks shriveling up and falling apart. The posters on the walls are all gone by now, burned down to ash.

He runs down the hallway and heads for the stairs leading up. They crumble under his feet as he runs, blocking his way out, but he doesn’t care.

“J-Bird?” he calls, but the crackle of the fire swallows the words. A pile of melted bricks blocks the path down the hallway. Batman turns his shoulder to it and takes a running start, then blasts through the pile. It burns his cape, but he doesn’t care. _“J-Bird!”_

No one calls back.

Batman skids to a halt at the end of the hallway and turns sharply, kicking the door down and leaping into Joker’s room.

And there he is. Lying on his bed, looking for all the world like-

He’s out cold. That’s it.

Batman grabs him by the waist and hauls him out of the bedroom, looking desperately for another way out. There aren’t any windows in this stupid place-

Wait, that’s not right. He’d _made_ a window here.

He squints through the smoke and the flames and sees- yes! The fist sized hole he’d knocked out, so long ago. Joker still in his arms, he drags them both out of the room and to the wall. With a cry, he kicks at the hole, where the bricks look weakest. They collapse instantly, and the whole floor gives a shudder.

 _Please,_  he thinks, _please let this work._

Keeping his grip on Joker with one arm, he takes his other hand and aims his grappling hook at the lamp-post just barely visible through the now-growing hole in the wall. He pulls the trigger and the hook fires, just as the floor gives way entirely and the building starts to come down with a resounding crash.

The hook takes, just as they start to fall, and Batman holds onto Joker with all his might-

And they soar up and out of the smoke, into the air, into safety.

_“Padre!”_

Batman rolls to a stop with Joker still in tow- unconscious but definitely, _definitely,_ still in one piece.

“Oh my goodness,” Barbara sighs, hurrying over. Robin gets there first, hugging Batman around the legs.

“I knew you’d make it,” Robin sighs, squeezing Batman’s legs so tight they start to go numb. Batman ignores him, leaning down with shaking legs.

“Batman?” Robin says, quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Robin, let’s.” Barbara takes Robin’s arm. “Let’s go check on the others, okay?”

“Okay, Miss Barbara,” Robin says, and then they’re alone.

“J-Bird,” Batman says, propping Joker up on a nearby car. “J-Bird, come on.”

Joker stirs ever so slightly, but doesn’t open his eyes.

“You’re so stupid,” Batman mutters. “I hate you- I hate it when you do this.”

“Do what,” Joker breathes back, coughing a little.

“Scare me, you stupid- dumb- _stupidhead.”_

“Don’t know why you always worry so much,” Joker hums. “I never do.”

“You’re proving my point about being stupid-”

“Because you always come save me.” Joker cracks his eyes open, looking dazedly up at Batman.

“You’re. So. _Stupid.”_

“Why are you all upset? Not like I was ever in danger. You were here.”

“Come live in the Manor.”

Joker blinks. “What?”

“Come. Live in the Manor,” Batman repeats. “With me.”

Joker looks up at Batman with burning eyes- half from the smoke, half from something else. “You mean it?”

“I’ll put in another warehouse for everyone else,” Batman says, nodding. “Maybe on the other side of the island. Or here, if you’re. Attached to the location. But you.” He pauses. “Should. Stay in the Manor.”

“Oh, Batsy.” Joker bats his eyes, flushing. “I was beginning to think you’d never ask.”

* * *

“Good morning, Master…”

“Call me J-J. S’ easier. You’re the butler man, right?”

“Alfred, Sir. May I ask why you’re wearing Master Bruce’s robe?”

“What- this isn’t- we just. Wear the same one. He’s a multi-billionaire with his own island and his own mansion. You think he can’t afford two robes?”

“Of course not. Only security footage didn’t detect anyone leaving the Master Bedroom to fetch a second one.”

“… You know perfectly well why.”

“Indeed I do.”

“You’re sneaky. I _like it.”_

* * *

_“And our final story today in Gotham Gossip is: Trouble at Wayne Manor! Batman was spotted yesterday at Wayne Manor, along with Gotham’s Clown Prince. Could this mean trouble for Bruce Wayne and the Joker?”_

“This,” Batman says, “is why having a secret identity is _fun.”_

“Still seems like a lot of work.”

“Doing push-ups is a lot of work.”

“And kind of needlessly complicated.”

“Not just regular pushups. Bat-pushups. They’re super-intense.”

“I wonder what their next story is going to be.”

“Most people would die after, like, five, I guess. Not me, though.”

“They’re going to be so heartbroken when they figure out Bruce Wayne and Joker aren’t together anymore.”

“Plus I’ve got a sick playlist to work out to. It’s a soundtrack of all my grunts. From my earlier workouts. To keep me motivated.”

“…Right. Right, yeah. Batsy, listen.” Joker props himself up on Batman’s chest, elbows digging down. “I’ve… been meaning to get back in shape, myself. Too much flab, not enough ab- yadda, yadda, ya. And I could use a little…motivation, too.”

“Uh,” Batman says. “Right.”

“Do you think I could get a listen of that playlist of yours?” Joker bats his eyes. “It sounds incredibly helpful.”

“It _totally is.”_ Batman looks up at the ceiling, exasperated. “How does nobody else get that?”

“I have no idea.” Joker fiddles with Batman’s robe, tugging at the silk ties. “So, can I get an mp3, or?”

“Mm.” Batman bats his hand away. Joker drops down until they’re flush against one another. He bats his eyelashes. Batman’s mouth quirks at the end into what could almost be a smile. “We’ll see.”

* * *

“Hey. Batsy.”

“Mmn.”

“How about… Buttman.”

“You could do better.”

“Bat… flan.”

“I’d eat it.”

“Really?”

“No.”

 _“I’d_ eat it.”

“I know you would.”

“Aw, Batsy.”

“It’s pronounced ‘Batman’.”

“Aw. Batsy.”

“No.”

“Batsy-Watsy.”

“Stop.”

“Bitty-Bat?”

“That’s not even close to being correct.”

“Bitsy-Batsy.”

“It’s far too early for this conversation. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Whatever you say. Bitsy-Batsy.”

“And for the record, I’m bigger than you. Because I work out.”

“Mhmm.”

“Got muscles. From here to Krypton.”

“Uh huh.”

“Got. Nine abs.”

“Go to sleep, Batsy.”

_“Nine of them.”_

“Very impressive. Sleep. It’s barely one- the sun hasn’t even started setting yet.”

“Mmn.”

“For heaven’s sake. You want a backrub?”

 _“Yes,_ please.”

* * *

 “You know what I just realized?”

“Hmm?”

“You never said it back.”

“What?”

“Back. Back then. I said it. But you didn’t.”

“Oh. Well. You know I do, don’t you?”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“Batsy.”

“Go on.”

“Oh, fine. I guess I might. Love you. A little bit.”

“A little bit, huh.”

“Mm, only a little. How much I _hate_ you, now. That’s a different story.”

* * *

It’s almost midnight, and the new moon does nothing to light up the room in the dead of night. It’s almost midnight, and apart from the gentle rush of water against the island’s bottom shores, the night is silent.

“Gotham’s ‘Man of the Year’ award is coming up,” Joker muses.

“It sure is,” Batman agrees. “Only a week left.”

“Think you’re gonna go?”

“I don’t have much of a choice.” Batman shrugs. “Why?”

“I was thinking about… stopping by.” Joker shrugs. “You know. Public events. Always interesting.”

“I see.” Batman fiddles with the pillow under his head. “Should I bring my grappling hook, then?”

“You might find it useful,” Joker hums.

“You better have a _really_ good plan this time,” Batman mumbles, yawning.

“Trust me, it’s good.”

“As good as the two boats?”

Joker smiles.

“Oh, it’s _better than the two boats.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the final rec for this fic is [Mooplethemarsh!](http://mooplethemarsh.tumblr.com) You can find their art blog over on [Moopledoodles!](http://moopledoodles.tumblr.com) Check em out for some RAD ART WOW I LOVE
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented or kudos'ed- and especially thanks to all of you who DREW ME ART like WOW THANK YOU SO MUCH <3 <3  
> This has honestly been the biggest, most positive response to any fic I've ever written (I mean the fics i've made for more popular fandoms have gotten more hits, but this is by far the most supportive response I've ever had), so I just wanted to thank you all for being so wonderful <3 xoxo
> 
> If yall have fic ideas, let me know- I'm dying to use the title "I Dream of Joker With the Bright Green Hair" but i have no idea what to actually write for it lmaooo


End file.
